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Regan Altink
Aug 11th, 2017, 02:29:21 AM
For most officers, a starship coming into dock was a welcome reprieve. Particularly on a ship as small - but perfectly formed - as the Novgorod, it was a welcome opportunity to experience space, fresh air, and a change of scenery. Even when that port of call was a space station, where you were breathing the same kind of bottled air just in a slightly different flavour, an escape from the same familiar corridors provided enough variety for the novelty value to kick in. Jovan Station certainly had the novelty market cornered, too: an appropriated Imperial station, patchworked back together after the whole Cizerack terrorist incident, and teeming with a population so diverse that it read like the guest list for an Alliance equal opportunities seminar. Most officers were excited, practically stampeding off the ship as soon as the airlocks finished cycling.

Regan Altink was not most people, however. To him, the prospect of departing the Novgorod to skip merrily across the deck plates of Jovan Station seemed more like a prospect of doom and danger than any kind of vacation a person in their right mind would blindly enjoy. It wasn't that the Novgorod was statistically safer: on the contrary, the incidents of getting shot at, blown up, injured, and almost abducted by extragalactic lizard creatures was already several times too many, and at any given moment the Novgorod was usually about a role of mesh tape and a pair of crossed fingers away from flying apart at the seams.

The Novgorod however was his lady, and that extended beyond blind fondness, and the geography of his personal comfort zone. He knew the Novgorod: inside and out, backwards and forwards. He spoke her language, understood what her clanks and groans and odd fluctuations translated to. If she was hurt, he could heal her. If she was just having one of those days, he knew exactly which mix of chocolate, caf, and replacement coil brackets would get her feeling like herself again. He knew his team as well, the chosen few to whom he delegated her care and maintenance. It was all well and good for someone on the bridge or the pilot's lounge to say they trusted a fellow officer with their life, but when it came to the engineers that was literally true: one mechanic on an off day, and suddenly everyone was breathing reactor fumes and lukewarm shyte was pumping out of all the taps. Tink had a reputation as a stern and unrelenting taskmaster, but it all came from an understanding of just how vital his people were; and he only asked and expected so much of them because he knew each and every one of them was capable.

Regan could not say the same for Jovan Station. No doubt the engineering team was perfectly competent, but he didn't have the first hand opportunity to know that. No doubt the station would be able to hold together just fine for the few days the Novgorod was expected to be here this time around, but if something went catastrophically wrong, he'd be left lost and useless with no opportunity to do anything to save his own ass. Given how frequently these patrol intermissions brought the Novgorod and her crew to Jovan, he supposed perhaps now was the time to remidy that, to get in good with the local engineers so that they'd recognise his usefulness if a crisis happened to roll around; but frankly he couldn't be bothered, and exploiting the vacancy of the Novgorod to get some much needed tweaks and overhauls done seemed like a far better use of his time.

Unfortunately, there had been a complication. Some irredeemable assclown had plundered his alcohol reserves, and while Regan hadn't been issued with the standard alcoholism that seemed to be part and parcel of the Alliance's senior ranks, the pervasive concern that Jovan Station might spontaneously explode again and break his lady - or worse, strand him alone with no engineering team to help stave off the Novgorod's decline from starship to sarcophagus - required a medicinal application of something brown and fermented. Not for the first time, Regan contemplated rigging up some sort of rudimentary still amongst the engine assembly; but his current requirement felt too urgent for that kind of mechanical undertaking, and so Regan had reluctantly ventured beyond the relative safety of his lady's hull.

There were still blaster scorches here and there, easy to spot if you had an eye for noticing that sort of thing. It was a big station, and a low priority, Regan supposed - better that they'd invested their time in fixing the structural damage and ensuring the station was habitable, rather than roaming the corridors looking for black smudges that needed to be painted over - but it was enough to keep Regan on edge, eyes peeled and studying the daunting crowds for anything that seemed even mildly suspicious. That turned out to be a problematically low threshold, especially given how shifty or menacing much of the Alliance's nonhuman population could look to human eyes. If this was the kind of paranoia that turned Imperial's into xenophobic nutjobs, he suddenly had the uncomfortable experience of finding the Empire ever so slightly more relatable.

He pushed that thought aside as best he could, letting the flow of pedestrians down the station's main corridors carry him along like an undercurrent towards the parts of the station intended for civilians. Causeways eventually transitioned into a broad commercial promenade, and the cacophony of a dozen different languages slammed into him like a wave. Garishly vibrant signs in incomprehensible scripts loomed at him from all directions, never visible for long enough to decipher as the shuffling advance of the crowd urged him onwards. It wasn't just the sound either, but the smell, the humid pressure of the air around him, the bumps and jostles of the pedestrians around him - it was all too much. He felt the gravity fluctuate beneath his boots, organs shifting uncomfortably inside him. He didn't belong in a place like this. He didn't belong around people he didn't know. He should go back; should have stayed; should have found someone to run his errand for him. But the undercurrent was too strong. There was no way back, no way out -

Tink's fidgeting hands rummaged into the innards of his jacket, fingers wrapping around a tool that he'd stashed in an inner pocket and forgotten about hours before. He tugged the sonic oscillator free, letting the surprising weight of it carry his hand back to his side, retreating slightly into the sleeve of his jacket. He fidgeted and fiddled, fingers twisting the device, intermittently triggering the sonic output, fixating on that subtle point of noise and sensation amid the surrounding maelstrom of people. He reached for that tiny point of clarity and focused on it, using it like a rope to drag himself back to rational thought. He'd done crowds before, and they'd been no problem. This was nothing compared to the flight deck back on the Challenger. All those ships, all those people, all that noise; he'd thrived in that environment. Basked in it. A few murderous lizard creatures and their technologically impossible star sphere weren't about to turn Regan Altink into a useless hermit. This wasn't the him he was meant to be.

The sonic oscillator drummed against Tink's leg, the steady rhythm contributing to his focus. He ignored the surroundings, and for a moment just focused on the crowd, charting a course through them as if he was trying to reroute a circuit around damaged conduits. His mind mapped a path, and he launched himself along it, dodging between a pair of Rodians and a little too close to an unbathed Wookiee towards one of the promenade edges, and a tranquil pool of relative calm outside one of the myriad establishments. Tink hadn't noticed the signage, and didn't bother to check; right now it didn't matter, as long as it gave him an opportunity to drift into a more comfortable and enclosed space. He drew in a breath to steel himself as he stepped over the threshold, muttering under his breath.

"Whatever y' are, y'd better be selling bloody booze."

Mags Sondeeta
Aug 18th, 2017, 10:57:32 PM
As Tink dawdled just within the threshold of the grocery store, he held up foot traffic. A foot clad in a military boot tapped once, twice, three times.

" 'ave you decided eef you are coming or going yet, or are you just going to stand zere and twirl zat silly toy een your 'and?"

Mags sized up the gawker with cool Twi'leki aloofness as she unshouldered her oversized reusable shopping bag. She wore a silk neckerchief beneath her tattooed lekku as disdainfully as she wore the patterned dress and military-issue boots below it.

Four taps.

"Okay, I weell make ze decision for you."

She pushed him the rest of the way into the grocery, giving enough room to allow her to move around.

Regan Altink
Aug 19th, 2017, 01:38:25 PM
With his anxiety and paranoia perilously close to redlining, for a fleeting moment Tink suspected that he was in the process of being kidnapped. It would not have been the first time, though the thick Rylothi accent was a new twist to the traumatic formula. It could be worse, he supposed. It could be Cizerack terrorists, or Imperial agents embedded on the station. Then again, Ryloth was one of the worlds that currently beyond the borders of the Alliance of Free Planets, something that might perhaps have radicalised the Twi'leks in a manner akin to the situation on Corellia these days - after all, both worlds had been important early components of the Rebellion, and neither were likely to be happy about being left out in the cold by the new Treaty. Perhaps this was some plot, the first stage in some ploy to use his technical prowess to somehow sabotage or undermine the Alliance, or -

As his mind slowly unwound enough to comprehend the situation around him however, a better understanding settled in place. His assailant was merely an impatient fellow shopper, who had resorted to manhandling within the few microseconds of threshold hesitation that he had indulged in. She tried to negotiate her way past him, but Tink was having none of it: a quick step brought him back into her path again, face to face this time. The instant her facial features hit his retinas, a flash of recognition narrowed Regan's eyes. Perhaps it was subconscious, some latent memory of seeing her wandering around in a flight suit at some point in the past; or perhaps a former knuckle-dragger like himself simply had a sixth sense for rocket jocks and their standard issue smugness; either way, this woman was undoubtedly a pilot, and Tina's patience almost immediately depleted to near zero.

"Now you listen here, lassie," he warned, the sonic oscillator tapping threateningly at her solar plexus. "I'd know your name rather than just your face if y' had enough importance tae back up tha' attitude, so do the cosmos a favour: chill y' thrusters, and unbunch the jock smock from your arse, eh?"

Mags Sondeeta
Aug 19th, 2017, 05:19:22 PM
Subtle hints herald the storm. For Mags Sondeeta, it started with flaring nostrils. Her jawline tightened. Tchun and tchin lekku tensed, drawing up to perch on her shoulders like coiled vipers.

Her free hand snatched up, draping over the hand Tink used to hold his sonic oscillator against her like a cudgel. The well-calloused digits closed over Tink's own, squeezing it against the metal oscillator with the indifference of a pneumatic press. First to discomfort, then to outright pain.

"I am not een ze 'abit of eentroduction, and certainment no to every leetle merde-mouth, tuber-face, middle-reem piece of afterbirth zat jus' so 'appens to darken my path."

She torqued down even harder.

"So you may call me Regret, and I 'ope zat now we 'ave been properly introduced!"

Regan Altink
Aug 20th, 2017, 01:58:05 PM
So it was playground tactics. Trying to crush his hand to show how strong and tough she was. What next, calling him names and trying to steal his lunch money?

Fortunately, Regan had plenty of experience dealing with this sort of person. He'd always been the weird kid, the smart kid, the kid who took junk and built it into things, the kid who'd built himself a best friend out of spare droid parts. While all the other kids were off playing Obi Wan Kenobi - not everyone believed the Empire's bullshit propaganda about the Jedi, and the folks on Stewjon were still fiercely proud of the local boy who'd gone off and become a notorious war hero - Regan had spent his time shuffling around in his ratty third-hnd clothes trying to avoid them, scavenging and salvaging for parts to cobble together into workable contraptions and repaired gizmos to sell for credits. He'd paid his way into a fancy off-world college doing that, with enough on the side to help keep his Ma comfortable in her older days.

He didn't achieve that by letting the bigger kids - which was most of them, a deficit in stature that had never quite gone away - punch and wrestle his hard-earned credits away from him, though. Stewjon kids didn't get to be soft around the edges, especially in the poorer neighbourhoods. Stewjon kids were hard. Tough. Scrappy. The bigger kids tried their usual tactics once or twice; Regan made sure they lived and limped to regret it.

Regan wasn't just scrappy though; wasn't just seasoned by his absentee father into enduring his way through a beating. Regan was smart, and fought smart. He found the weaknesses of his antagonists, and he exploited them. Take this Twi'lek for example. Most people thought of their braintails as a sexy and exotic addition: different enough to know you were screwing an alien without feeling like you were shooting into something too far removed from your gene pool. Regan on the other hand - through a mix of book learnng, and an unfortunate mishap with a college girlfriend that involved grabbing hold of them for traction - knew that they were crammed with sensory receptors, and were sensitive in all the right and all the wrong ways.

"Regret, y'say?" he echoed back, the same calm expression and steely look in his eyes that had lulled the unsuspecting into a false sense of security back home. "Guess that mustae been your stripper name back in the day, eh?"

With that, Tink surged forward, head slamming into the bridge of the conveniently taller Twi'lek's nose in a swift Stewjon kiss, followed quickly with a sharp thwack with his ungripped hand to the fleshy side of Regret's left lekku.

Mags Sondeeta
Aug 20th, 2017, 02:26:16 PM
Another Tuesday, another broken nose. Mags' eyes watered hot saline as her adrenaline redlined. She cocked back a fist, but not before Tink clapped a hand hard against her tchin. Instantly, pain ran through her like a hammer blow into cold steel, leaving a fog of nausea in it's wake.

Mags broke contact, packpedaling a half step in a stoop. Her green eyes burned a hole into Tink's chest.

In an instant, she charged for him...

Gradoona Pod-Floewander
Aug 20th, 2017, 02:31:47 PM
...and was instantly intercepted in a protective bear hug, lifting her clear off the ground.

"Whooa-hoo-hoo-hooo there sister! Easy! Eeeaasy!"

Gradoona tried to keep the wrap-up nonchalant, but the Twi'lek fought like a badger made out of steel cables. The entire grocery store filled with what could've been sonnets, but were probably just a never-ending stream of Twi'leki curse words.

"Geeepers you're a haandful! Count to ten oor something, sister! Oof!"

The Herglic took a mule kick to the gut, managing it with only a stoic wheeze from her blowhole. Gradoona responded by squeezing the air out of her.

Regan Altink
Aug 20th, 2017, 03:00:38 PM
Today of all days, Tink was a little disappointed that the Twi'lek had been so unceremoniously interrupted. To say he was spoiling for a fight was an outright lie, but in the absence of a tricksy little engineering conundrum to work out his frustrations on, the angry blueberry might have made a passable substitute. Still, his rescuer had descended like a hypersonic guardian angel from the heavens, and Tink was smart enough not to look a gift whale in the mouth.

He watched as Regret squirmed and wriggled, trying not to smirk with only moderate success. He glanced around, wondering how he could have missed the Herglic: had he really been so distracted? He certainly hadn't missed seeing her during his prior reluctant forays into the station, and knew enough to recognise her as a fellow engineer, though learning her name had never seemed particularly important until now. His eyes then settled on the sonic device in his hand, and a grimace swept across his features, wondering if he had inadvertently summoned or antagonised her. He fought that expression into submission, and found his way up to the Herglic's eyes.

"I take it y' are familiar wi' the Patron Saint a' Impatience here?"

Gradoona Pod-Floewander
Aug 20th, 2017, 03:14:36 PM
Gradoona kept up the submission move, but man it wasn't easy.

"Yeah...oomph...she's a real...ugh...pistol at times...geez!"

Mags was starting to lose steam, but she was still taking whatever shots she could. Gradoona had to remember to keep away from the Twi'lek's face. She wasn't above biting.

"Didya haave t' goo and slaap 'er in the twins? Oof! She...uh...takes thaat soorta thing personal yaknoo!"

Mags finally stopped kicking. Now she was just breathing the sort of way the angriest cat in the world did when you put it in a box and poked at it. For herself, Gradoona was breathing heavy too. She leaned up against the wall.

Regan Altink
Aug 20th, 2017, 03:38:59 PM
"Hey!" Regan protested, "Your lassie started it."

The accusation that he was somehow responsible for the superior wrongdoing here grated profusely. Aye, it had been a low blow - or a high blow, technically - on a par with kicking someone hard in the soft and sweaties, but those kind of tactics were also the best way of getting situations like this over and done with. You didn't stand up to bullyish behaviour by sparring honourably and letting them wail on you until they got tired or until someone bigger showed up to kick them out of the garbage can filled alley and on their merry way: you stood up by hitting them hard, making it hurt, and leaving a lingering memory that would discourage them the next time.

From his few fleeting seconds of exposure, Regan had already formed a sense of certainty that, by taking the azure annoyance down a peg or two, he'd be doing the whole damned sector a favour.

"If she doesnae want tae get what she's got coming, she shouldnae be shovin' that arsehole attitude a' hers in everyone's faces. Cannae be surprised that eventually someone'll shove back."

Gradoona Pod-Floewander
Aug 20th, 2017, 06:17:03 PM
"Hey! Lookit fella," Gradoona looked squarely down at the human as she continued to ease Mags into a non-critical state, "I'm doin this foor youur benefit. Soo she doesn't kill ya, becaause Maags Sondeeta is crazy, okay?"

That renewed a little vigor in the Twi'lek's struggle, and Gradoona backpedaled a little.

"Oookay, ookay. Naat crazy, just a little shoort-fused, eh?"

Gradoona whistled, and returned her attention to Tink.

"C'maan, help a gal ouut. Cooler heads, eh?"

Mags Sondeeta
Aug 20th, 2017, 06:19:23 PM
Mags was starting to turn a shade of purple, and it took every bit of effort to suck in a mouthful of air before it was squeezed out in a wheeze. She glowered at Tink ruefully, then gave an exaggerated nod.

Regan Altink
Aug 21st, 2017, 01:58:51 AM
Cooler heads. Because of course, that was what they always said - Commander Perfect Hair and all the other stuffed shirts who thought they knew how to runs mech crew better than he did. Someone screwed up, and you were supposed to hold hands and so a song circle or some pansy shyte, instead of just yelling to drive home the message: don't screw up again. He still managed to do a decent bit of glowering and irate snapping from time to time; but damn it, engineering crews just worked more smoothly when they were focused on not annoying the Chief.

That was the problem with this whole hippy, hand-holding, better together Alliance crap that the Rebellion had committed to. Gone were the days of making do with what you had, building their way to freedom with spit, grit, mesh tape, and nerf wire. Everything had to be proper now. There were protocols. Procedures. Regulations. A bunch of extra hurdles in the way of getting things done.

Regan almost refused to back down on principle, but in the end he sighed, the metaphorical weight of his unworn Lieutenant Commander stripes dragging his shoulders into a slump.

"Mags Sondeeta, eh?" One last pang of unspoken irritation twisted in his gut. No one ever worried about Regan Altink going crazy and killing folks. Stupid commanding officers and their stupid no hitting the annoying disappointments in your crew rules. With considerable effort he managed to dislodge enough of his frustration to slip a more amiable lilt into his words.

"I guess Regret was a wee bit too on the nose tae be your real name, eh lassie?"

Gradoona Pod-Floewander
Aug 23rd, 2017, 11:58:11 PM
"C'maan, doon't pooke the bear." Gradoona chided with a whistle-click and an airy bellow from atop her head.

"Truce? Seal the deal oover a drink oor ten? Let sleeping penguins lie and all?"

As an afterthought, the Herglic carefully let Mags go, controlling her descent to the floor.

Mags Sondeeta
Aug 24th, 2017, 12:16:33 AM
Mags crumpled to the deck, greedily taking in breaths in between ragged coughs. She shrugged and shimmied away from the oversized hands that had swallowed her up, guarding her personal space in a miserly way until she was no longer gasping for breath. Glowering at both of them, the Twi'lek wiped a bloody smear from her nose with the back of a hand.

"Oh. Well zen, all I 'ave to do to rectify zis situation ees 'ave a drink with a beast and a buffoon."

She set her broken nose.

"Maybe zey will 'ave a decent vintage of poison in ze cellar."

Still, Mags didn't bow up for a fight. She massaged a lekku, twisted her torso to pop her back, then let out a sigh with a grimace.

Regan Altink
Aug 24th, 2017, 02:44:21 PM
The mention of alcohol was enough to give Regan pause. The Herglic's intervention had given the opportunity to look at his surroundings, and recognise the grocery store he'd wandered into for what it was. Granted, they likely served alcohol - what self-respecting grocery store didn't? - and it was the kind of alcohol he could buy in bulk and retreat back to the Novgorod with; but it was also firewalled behind wandering back and forth down the aisles in search of whatever arse-backwards place they'd decided to stash the stuff, and then he'd be confronted with an array of choices that would necessitate a decision, not to mention their probable lack of anything decent within whatever selection they made available; and then beyond that, there was the uncomfortable social interaction with the person behind the till, who no doubt would ask about his day, and remain politely indifferent regardless of his response, be it honest, glaring, or swearing.

The alternatives weren't all that fantastic, mind you. Leaving without alcohol was unconsciounable at this point, particularly with Regret's assistance; and while the prospect of drinking with the two of them hardly filled him with glee, it was worth remembering that Regret had come here for a reason, and that remaining here to make a purchase would not necessarily liberate him from her company. There was also the minor matter of the brief and aborted scuffle that he'd been part of in the store's doorway: even if they hadn't already contacted security, they probably wouldn't look all too kindly on his continued presence.

"Fine, fine," he grunted, with a sigh of surrender. "I come in peace. Take me tae your barman."

Gradoona Pod-Floewander
Oct 15th, 2017, 11:25:26 AM
"See, it's naat soo haard!"

Scooping Mags up like a sad puppy, the Herglic extended a big hand to the human in salutation.

"Naame's Gradoona Pod-Floewander. Junior spaanner jock aan Joovan station."

Mags Sondeeta
Oct 20th, 2017, 10:43:33 PM
Hobbled by indignity, Mags bucked and shimmied until the Herglic relented, allowing her to drop back to her feet. Shaky feet, but standing. She glowered up at her over-friendly captor, then back at the sallow-faced human who talked like he had a mouthful of surgical packing.

"She ees not coming onto you, zees ees just 'ow she acts around total strangers."