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Thread: The Thargoid and Fer-de-Lance

  1. #4726
    A sort of shimmering appeared in the nothingness at a distance of about two kilometres from Barnardīs station. The shimmering changed into a glow, a scintillating pattern of lights. From the middle of it, an unusual ship appeared to grow. As the ship grew, the surrounding light dimmed, until the long, narrow ship matched the length of the now very faint elliptical glow.
    As the ship turned to point towards the station, the glow disappeared entirely.
    The ship approached the station, lining up with the entrance.
    Apparently, ship to station communications took place. The ship approached rapidly, entered without incident and came softly to rest on pad 21.
    A hatch opened, the pilot stepped out of the ship.

    The pilot ran a hand through the long, straight falls of white hair while looking around, acclimatising itself, then nodded to itself and headed off towards the open public areas.

    Several minutes later, the doors to the Thargoid & FerdeLance swung open and the pilot of the strange ship entered the bar. It was unusually dark in the room as the pilot walked over to the bar...

  2. #4727
    A lone ship drifts silently through the emptiness, making it's way to the docking port. It's pitch black hull blends nearly seamlessly with the darkness of the void; Only the dull white hues of it's engine trail and occasional flash of it's nav lights betray it's presence. Stars wink into the darkness, emerging a blink later as the ship slowly passes by, silently, effortlessly like a predator in a deep, desolate ocean. Finally, the ship begins to pass through the opening in the Coriolis type station, the interior lights revealing a Gunship bearing a lone sigil of a skull, a broken butterfly adorned upon it's head with one wing shattered in two. Scars line the hull, painting it with slashes and burns though the ship bears them well, like marks of honor on a wounded soldier. On the side, in torn grey letters almost indistinguishable from the ships colors is a name, "The Lagoon".

    Slowly, gently, the ship makes it's way to the pad designated for it, one in a nice, silent edge of the hangar. The ship looms closer, ominous and dark, intimidating in it's black, bullet riddled hull. The ship begins to make a gentle descent towards the landing pad, the act made seemingly effortless as would distinguish any elite pilot. The landing gears extended, the ship is merely a few meters from touching the pad when suddenly a loud pop, then a bang rang out. "Awe, SON OF A-...!!".

    The port landing thrusters suddenly give out, half the ship dropping like a lead brick, slamming into the docking pad with an ear shattering screech of grinding metal as the ship slides. Immediately, the remaining thrusters are cut, and the ship rocks, the remaining gears crashing onto the pad with a loud, resonating metallic thud. "Landing successful. Engines disengaged." the computer informs as the pads magnetic guides draw the ship back towards the middle.

    "Yeah, right... If that's what you wanna call it. Hunk of junk..." Crystles growled as she stood from the commanders chair, giving it a kick as she made towards the rearward hatch. The ramp began to lower, and the tall woman began walking out onto it not waiting for it to fully land before she hopped down. A crowd of passer by's stared at the ship and the pilots awkward landing performance, though a dark scowl thrown in their direction had them moving on quickly enough.

    A pad maintenance technician began to approach, the man glancing at the rough strewn marks and gouges left behind by the rough landing. "Well... I've seen worse. Nothing the landing fees dont account for." he said idly before looking towards the tall, red headed woman. Her eyes were dark and dangerous as she gazed about, the eyes of some one who has seen, and participated in, more than their fair share of combat and atrocities. Glints of metal could be seen from under the black leather jacket she wore, one sleeve missing revealing an arm with a scrolling tattoo from shoulder to bicep hiding a faint, almost invisible scar that ran the full radius of her arm. The worn young woman glanced back up at her ship and it's many scars, sparks arcing from the failed thrusters before they gave another pop, a plume of smoke billowing from one marking it's demise. Crystles let out a dejected sign before turning to the technician. "Whatever... I need it fixed, refueled and rearmed. I'll be staying for a short while, but I prefer it done sooner than later." she'd say, her voice rough and gravely. Without waiting for a reply, the female began walking away, pulling a pack of cigarettes from a pocket, taking one and beginning to light it.

    "W-wait, ma'am! Theres no-" the tech started before being cut off. "Send whatever bill to registration PD-00X..." Cry called back with out looking, she ignoring him knowing full well, and not caring about the no smoking policy in the landing bay. The woman was in a foul mood, her ragged ship evidence of a less than shining week of hunting, but she knew the one thing that would fix that. Cry took a long, deep pull of that cigarette as she continued on, making her way to the one place she was most familiar with, the Thargoid and Fer-de-Lance.

  3. #4728
    Quimby gave a contented sigh ,and dabbed at his eyes before the lights came up,though whether at tears of laughter or sorrow would be anyone's guess.He signaled Sven for another round,then idly scanned the crowded room,noting faces old and new.The reception had been excellent and he allowed himself to be enveloped in the sussurus of stimulated connversation provoked by the entertainment.For one hour a week he allowed himself to lose himself within himself almost totally,emerging refreshed and fully charged to tackle the week ahead.
    The svenbot steering his refill towards him paused briefly,allowing the angry looking woman to squeeze into the booth beside him.
    'Crowded tonight.Do you mind?'
    She blew a cloud of smoke into the bots faceplate as she ordered her drink.
    Quimby glanced sideways at her,not entirely convinced of her sincereity.
    'I'm afraid you've missed the first half.'
    'The place has changed.Is it under new management?Entertainment used to be a jukebox in the corner and a grumpy old man propping up one end of the bar.Where is he,by the way.I thought he was a fixture?'
    'The way i heard it,that old man somehow got bitten by a spider and managed to drop a spanner in the jukebox Then he went on the lam.Well,what with the emergency and all,amnesty was declared and rumour has it he's off fighting thargs down below.And of course,increased traffic means that R'n'R becomes more important,morale and such like.Hence the makeover.'
    He indicated the teeminng throng of commanders.'For some,this is their last stop before oblivion.'

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