Sands of Time

[Vellum]

Fortuna Station revolved around the planet for which it was named, both physically and metaphorically. The city catered to those coming to and from the desert planet, allowing a place for ships to refuel and for their passengers to stock up on the necessary items. Naturally, the crime rates were astounding.

The station had hollowed out Fortuna's moon. As a small moon, smaller even than Earth's, the station housed well over three million souls, and was a bustling center of trade. If you needed something not strictly legal, you went to Fortuna Station. Including assassins, if the blatant "Problem Solvers" advertisements were anything to go by. The inner recesses housed the rich and powerful. Those with a view of Fortuna's sandy surface were the beggars and thieves.

Ren Shida stood in the middle, as an outsider. Clearly foreign, humans were an uncommon thing this far out of Exo space. At least three different civilized systems stood between the nearest colony and Fortuna, meaning that he was more foreign than ever before. Despite this, he wasn't particularly worried. In a brightly lit spot of neon, he was confident that nobody would try to shank him. And if they did...well, Fortuna Station was lawless enough that nobody would mind too much if he put down someone that shot first.

He leaned against a nearby wall, mildly amused by watching the child of another species point at him and chatter in her foreign language to her parent, who seemed distressed by their child's antics and was attempting to herd them away. The idea of raising a child on Fortuna Station gave him mild anxiety attacks--too many things could go wrong. Mercenary groups in constant war over who got to control the trade, the ever looming threat of the Admiralty Board catching their trail and deciding to blast the moon they resided on to pebbles.

The half-blood scanned the plaza again, looking for any sign of the Treasure Hunting band that he was supposed to be meeting. Or rather, whoever it was that they sent to accompany him while they bought the necessary supplies for their expedition on the planets surface.

Supposedly, he was to be meeting another human. Although he had neither gotten description nor picture, but he did get a name, likely due to whomever he was corresponding with being of another species. If all aliens of the same species looked the same to him, he imagined that all humans looked the same to aliens. Considering the lack of humans on the station, Ren doubted that it would be too difficult to find his contact.

There, that has to be him.

Ren pushed away from the wall and began wading through the crowd, keeping his head down. "Hello," he greeted the other human from a bit of a distance, giving him time to respond. "Callan, maybe?" he asked, sizing the other man up. Taller than him, and definitely not someone he'd want to fight in hand to hand combat. He'd be willing to believe this human was part of a Treasure Hunting team. Seemed the type, at least.

--------------
@Spectre of the Fade

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

CALLAN "MAD DOG" BENNETT

Long, determined strides carried Callan through the streets and across the walkways of Fortuna Station, wary eyes tracking him as he went like he could explode into violence at any moment. Sure, he was a human, a damn tall one, with a positively thunderous expression and an aggressive stride, but that wasn't enough to explain the people who moved away from him like he was afflicted with some sort of horrible disease. He expected all the attention, honestly; merely being a human was a rare enough sight out here and would garner some looks, but he was also quite obviously a cyborg. The metal fingers of his left hand was evidence enough, but the splits in the left sleeve of his jacket (made of thick, strong leather from some beast he'd never learned the name of) at wrist, elbow, and shoulder to allow the metal joints easy movement flashed the scarred metal plates of his arm as he moved and sealed the suspicion of those who watched him.

Far too many horror stories of cyborgs with broken implants killing their way through entire crews spread like wildfire on stations just like this one for him to be viewed with anything resembling trust. A couple of years out on the Rim had numbed Callan to the attention somewhat, but he still kept on his toes. Would usually keep on his toes, anyways, but today was no normal day.

Captain Lauros Vanthe, his "superior" and tentative friend, had dropped that he was five minutes late for a meeting he hadn't even known he'd had to go to only a couple minutes previous. "Better get moving," she'd teased, her feet planted firmly on the access ramp to their ship and right hand raised with thumb circling around in a distinctly Alfar gesture of dismissal. Callan had backed down the ramp with a finger on each hand held up in a distinctly human gesture of disapproval. Luckily, he could walk to the plaza he was supposed to be at already in his sleep, because he was far too distracted to pay attention to the people he brushed past, let alone figure out directions. His mind was occupied with one thought he usually didn't bother with: why. Vanthe liked to greet the new people personally, liked to walk them around and get a read on their value to her crew. Sending Callan like she did broke her usual pattern. Was she suspicious of this academic they were collecting? Was it an elaborate ploy to deliver Callan into the hands of some bounty hunters from the Core? Was there no ulterior motive, and she'd just sent Callan because he was technically in charge of requisitions?

Gah, too many questions.

Callan pushed the thoughts from the forefront of his mind as he drew close to the plaza, clearing his head and focusing on his task. Time to work. Suspicion would wait til the shuttle ride. He was looking for one Ren Shida. Vanthe had described him as "human, probably" and had assured him "you'll find him just fine, humans have a weird knack for finding each other" before she'd waved him off the ship. Callan stopped on the street he'd entered the plaza from to look, hands resting on his hips as stormy blue eyes carefully watch the people of various species who pass near the cyborg.

He catches a flash of white hair through the people moving in the plaza, eyes narrowing as he watched for it again,k and sure enough, the flash of white turned out to be another human, headed in his direction. Likely who he was looking for, then. Arms crossing across his chest in an instinctive preparation for the social interaction he was about to deal with, Callan spared a thought for how intimidating he likely looked at that moment (brows furrowed down, scowl firmly in place, arms crossed over his broad chest with a blaster hanging off his left hip, already uncommon height boosted a couple centimeters by the sturdy boots on his feet) with an internal wince before dismissing it as a concern. He wasn't here to make friends.

"Callan Bennett, yeah," he responded with a nod, eyes flicking over the other man before settling on his face. He looked pale, pretty like he could be someone smart and educated, but he also looked armed and that second bit was something of a pleasant surprise. Not what Callan was expecting when Vanthe announced she was adding a new member to their odd gang of treasure hunters, that was for sure. "I take it you're Ren Shida, then?" he asked, the accent he'd learned from his parents softly affecting his pronunciation of the name. "Make my day and tell me you've got a short list. Tell me we'll be done in twenty minutes and I might not even have to shoot anyone," he added, trying to joke but perhaps not coming off that way given his generally aggressive stance.

 

[Vellum]

Ren smiled dryly, amused by the idea. "While that would make for a much more interesting shopping trip, I'd like to avoid the paperwork. Somehow, I doubt my superiors would accept 'collateral damage as an effect of long shopping lists' as an explanation." he replied.

He turned away, digging through the bag set against his hip for a moment. Despite his generally organized existence, Ren's bag was a cluttered mess with things packed in as tightly as they could go. As if to prove that he had likely thrown in things that weren't necessary, a small, bright blue lizard fell out as he pulled a tablet free with a triumphant noise. It squeaked in annoyance and scampered for the gutter.

Ren watched it go with mild interest, silently wondering if the creature was a) Fortunan native, and b) if he'd put it in without thinking (entirely possible, considering he'd been in a frantic rush while packing this bag just before leaving), if one of his coworkers had sneaked it in as a joke (did they not understand the delicate state of an ecosystem that might be ruined by a non-native animal?), or if it had simply gotten in itself and curled up among the humming electronics, sunning in the warmth.

"Right. Hm, sorry." he cleared his throat and refocused as the lizard's tail disappeared from sight, pulling up the list of required items. It was a relatively short list, comprised of many objects that he couldn't get through customs coming out of Admiralty Controlled Space. "Copper wiring, a couple of non-explosive chemical components, and aluminum." he listed to Callan, showing him the holograms display as proof.

Ren rolled his eyes, "You know how customs can be. Everyone is a smuggler in disguise--even when I showed them my license." he offered as an excuse for the weird list. Although he put on the front of being annoyed by them detaining him on his way out and taking half the things he required for doing his job, he understood that it was for their safety as much as his.

Still frustrating, though.

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

CALLAN "MAD DOG" BENNETT

The dry smile and returned joke earned a burst of laughter from Callan, though his surprise strangled the sound and it came out more like a grunt from a beast of burden than anything remotely resembling a laugh or even a noise that should come from a person. His eyes immediately went up and away from Ren as the man dug around in his bag, head turning like he was scoping out the people around them. And he was, but he was also trying to hide his face. He was blushing, for fuck's sake, heat flooding his cheeks as deep and lasting embarrassment that he'd made such a weird noise settled in. He hadn't blushed since he was twenty and hacked Admiral Phenath's robotic lapdog in a lame attempt at a joke. That incident had ended with six ruined uniforms and coolant absolutely everywhere in the board room, requiring two full hours of clean up, and Callan had gotten his ass chewed for it. It was an event worthy of a blush of embarrassment. This, however? Ugh.

A noise of triumph followed almost immediately by an annoyed squeak yanked Callan's attention away from his embarrassment and back downwards, and Callan found himself surprised once again. This time it was because of the blue lizard running away from the pair of them. He kept himself from diving after the little creature, scooping it up, naming it Worthy, and keeping it on his shoulder like a reptilian parrot, but it was a near thing. He decided he would not wonder how often Ren found living things amidst his belongings, given the casual apology, and focused on the list Ren was showing him. The embarrassment was yet another thing to deal with at an undefined later date.

Okay...the chemicals were easy. Plenty of people traded in that kind of thing and Fortuna Station had more than its share. Aluminum was also easy, if scrap ship parts would work for Ren's purposes. The copper wiring was going to be a bit of a pain, seeing as they weren't too common these days, but Callan had a couple ideas where to find some.

"Never had much trouble with customs, even when I was smuggling," he murmured, casually blunt about his criminal history, as he pulled a pad out of his pocket. The device was slim and expensive-looking and definitely loaded with an operating system that wasn't factory standard, given the unusual holographic menus Callan sifted through with his flesh-and-bone hand. "I blame it on my non-threatening aura and winning personality." The truth was more along the lines of Callan having a fairly comprehensive list of items Customs didn't like stashed away in his memory core and an ability to fake pleasantness when dealing with people he didn't care about, but the sarcasm in his tone probably hinted at that. He looked up after finishing whatever it was he was compiling, sending a few files to Ren's tablet with a couple of flicks of his long fingers. The files were map points with shop names and specialties, all neatly organized and formatted. His eyes were serious when he focused them on Ren, however. "Some shops that probably have what you're looking for. I'm following your lead. You get what you need, I make sure you don't get us killed or run off with Vanthe's hard earned chits. Clear?"

 

[Vellum]

Ren's eyes sharpened for a moment, something like indignation crossing his features for a brief second. He nodded once, "Clear." he replied coolly. Looking down at the list that had shown up on his tablet, the light haired man scanned it for likely candidates. Any of these shops might have what he was looking for, but he'd rather not go in every single one just to ask if they had a ball of wire and some ethanol if he could help it.

Finding the first name on the list that seemed likely to have the two metallic components, T'len's Scrapyard, he scowled around the plaza. Pulling up the rudimentary map he'd downloaded on Fortuna Station a few minutes before landing, the biologist began scanning the streets for his mark. "We'll head to the junkyard first, then. The copper wiring is important, and I want to make sure that we get that." he explained to Callan.

With that, he started weaving through the crowd again. If anyone gave him dirty looks for going against the flow of traffic and the occasional bump into them, Ren was purposely unaware. Breaking out on the other side of the thickest part of the traffic, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder for Callan. Although, come to think of it, he suspected that people would trip over themselves to get out of the way of the other human.

That was definitely cybernetic implants he'd spied on Callan's left hand, going all the way up if the sleeve of his jacket was any indicator. A smuggler, or an ex-smuggler, at any rate. Ren silently wondered how much was altered of the other man, and whether his augments were Board Certified. Probably not, although he suspected that was more of a good thing than a bad. Certified augmentations were usually under Admiralty control and might come with tracking chips embedded in their inner workings.

Or so he'd heard. Exos' had outlawed them before he was born. Neither humans nor their pseudo-reptilian counterparts were allowed near them.

Finally spotting Callan again, Ren ducked into the shop he'd targeted. A species he recognized but didn't know the name of, more arachnid than humanoid, clicked it's mandibles at him and flashed its fangs in what he assumed was supposed to be a welcoming smile. "I need aluminum and copper wiring." Ren informed the alien, walking up to the desk.

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

CALLAN "MAD DOG" BENNETT

Callan's scowl deepened slightly at Ren's explanation, but he nodded sharply and fell into step behind the other human without a complaint. The scowl wasn't for Ren's choice of shop, anyways, it was for the flash of something - irritation? indignation? - he caught on Ren's face before it shifted to cool and neutral. Not even five minutes since he met the crew's new greenhorn, and Callan had already managed to offend him? Fuck. This was why Vanthe handled this shit. She was good with people.

He spared a second to wonder if he should apologize when they got to the shop, crack some stupid joke about his paranoia with new people, and be done with it, but he dismissed that idea almost immediately. Too embarrassing. He couldn't swallow his pride to apologize to Vanthe; apologizing to the greenhorn was out of the question. No matter how attractive he might be.

Either way, Callan played the part of bodyguard spectacularly. The crowd would part around him like he was an icebreaker ship cleaving through sea ice anyways, glares and wary looks directed at his arm, but he kept up appearances. Back straight, a neat rhythm to his footsteps, arms uncrossed, and left hand brushing the blaster at his hip every now and again. Of course, there were those who were too distracted or too busy to dodge out of the way and the odd individual who let irritation win out over superstition to actually stand in his way. Those he moved around without breaking stride. Or touching anyone, in fact. He made a point to avoid physical contact, even when it came to simple things like handshakes and traditional greetings from other species, as touch was something that made him intensely uncomfortable. He avoided investigating why it made him so uncomfortable every bit as much as he avoided touch in the first place. Wasn't a thing worth contemplating. He paused before the odd pair arrived at the shop, letting a tall and multi-limbed individual get between him and Ren for a moment to avoid awkwardly dancing around their various arms, with an internal wince at the mistake. Way to bodyguard, idiot. Callan ducked into the shop after Ren, embarrassed once again but thankfully not blushing this time.

The shopkeeper made a few positive sounding clicks to Ren's request before disappearing into the back, and then Callan took the moment to ask something he'd wondered when the wire was brought up. "What's the wire for?" he asked, blunt, arms crossing over his chest again as he once again bothered with social interaction. There were smaller and somewhat more efficient methods of transmitting electricity these days. Why the copper? Not that he'd voice any of that. Playing stupid (or at least as someone with shit knowledge of electronics) suited his purposes, most of the time.

 

[Vellum]

Ren watched the shop keeper disappear, head tilted curiously at the multitude of scurrying legs. It seemed vastly inefficient to have six legs, especially when supporting something with the upper body mass of a human, more or less. On the flip side, he supposed that such a build would give a very sure footing, and a faster movement speed. And evolution was rarely efficient where the galaxy was concerned.

He leaned against the counter with one hip, crossing his arms and staring downwards. "Even in the military, when we had access to top of the line electrical transfers, we were taught to keep older methods around. They might be inefficient in comparison to some of the things we have now--and dangerous, Stars know I've gotten shocked a few times--but it's hard to screw up copper wiring. It's pretty straight forward." he explained with a shrug.

A crash sounded from the back room, followed by the sound of metal components falling on top of each other. Ren looked up, distracted by the noise. "You okay back there?" he called to the shop keeper, half concern for his well-being, and half interested in what might've happened to cause such a cacophony. The arachnid-like alien clicked in what seemed a positive response, one leg waving beyond the doorway as if to prove that he were fine.

"Going to assume that is a yes." he commented to Callan, amusement coloring his tone.

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

CALLAN "MAD DOG" BENNETT

Military. Hn.

Callan's scowl managed to take a turn for the thoughtful, somehow, eyes self consciously flicking away from Ren like the other man would be able to read his entire failed military career through them. He didn't bring it up, not even for the sake of conversation, because most of it still felt raw even after all this time. Besides, it didn't seem like Ren had recognized him and Callan wanted to keep it that way. That didn't stop home from wondering what it would have been like if he'd actually gone into combat engineering. Would he still be here? Was this a destined path for him to take? Or would everything have been different?

"I guess I get it," Callan responded, blue eyes shifting back to Ren as he pulled himself away from that particular line of thought. Far too much dark territory down that way, and he was working. "Use the classics so you really appreciate the modern shit when you get a chance to use it, right? Same principle I learned -" he was cut off by an abrupt noise from the back room, and the fact that his left hand was on his blaster before he'd consciously recognized the noise as metal crashing to the ground really said a lot. Callan wasn't quite sure what it said, really, but it definitely wasn't good. Meanwhile Ren quite nicely asked if the shopkeeper was alright.

The heat of an embarrassed blush bloomed across his cheeks once again, shame curling in his gut, and crossed his arms again like that'd take away from the red on his face. If he continued reacting like this, if Ren kept surprising him like this, he was going to fucking die.

"Same principle I learned guns on," he finished after a moment, looking more like a child with a disappointed parent than the intimidating bodyguard he'd been. "How'd you learn about the ruins here?" he asked quickly after, figuring it'd be a lesser blow to what little dignity he had left if he soldiered on through a conversation rather than shutting down and following Ren around in stubborn silence. "Fortuna isn't exactly out of the way. Figured it all be looted by now."

 

[Vellum]

The shop keep returned with a bundle of red toned wires, wrapped into a neat bundle and secured with a blue ribbon. "You are a miracle worker." Ren purred to the arachnid-like alien, tucking it into the crook of one arm (not unlike a baby) and transferring a payment he suspected would be suitable for them both. The shop keep nodded and clicked with satisfaction, then passed him the roll of aluminum. "Thank you." the scholar said, ducking his head slightly and then making for the shop exit.

"I learned about Fortuna," he replied to Callan as he made his way toward a shop that he hoped would have the chemicals he required, "through some of my colleagues. As Xenohistorians, we keep our ears to the ground for any murmurs of anything that might be of interest to us. There were rumblings of a haul of artifacts coming out of this sector, sold on the black market for a pretty sum. Naturally, we're interested in anything that doesn't match known records of ancient civilizations."

After a few moments, he shrugged. "I suspect it's unlooted due to the sand obscuring many of the ruins. A recent earth quake may have displaced the dunes and revealed new ruins. Beyond that...traps, perhaps. It's difficult to say how advanced these predecessors were." he added, coming to a stop and eyeing his surroundings.

"Also, I believe I got us lost." Ren didn't seem particularly embarrassed or distressed by this revelation. If anything, he seemed resigned.

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

CALLAN "MAD DOG" BENNETT

"Traps. Exactly what I wanted to hear," Callan drawled after they'd walked out of the shop, his deeply sarcastic tone indicating that it was exactly the opposite. Watching for traps while he poked around in dusty old ruins on a planet that looked to be hotter than Augustine was exactly what he'd wanted out of life. Definitely. No, wait, he'd forgotten something important. He was going to follow this weirdly attractive ex-military Xenohistorian around and watch for traps in dusty ruins on a planet that might just be more hellish than the planet of his birth. There, that was it. That was what he'd be doing for the next week or month or however long it was going to take to find their treasure.

It was crazy to think that this was his life, now. He didn't want to know what his mother would make of it all.

The blush had definitely not died down by the time they stopped, and Callan was capital-D Done with trying to get id of it. He'd figure it out and nurse his wounded pride later. Preferably with some strong alcohol. For now, though, he had to guide them to the nearest store. Apparently. Callan gave Ren a critical look after the admission (it was softer than the critical looks he gave most people, though Ren didn't really have a way of knowing that) and dipped his left hand into his pocket to pull out his pad again. A few swipes pulled up a holographic map of the station. There were some softly pulsing areas on it, likely marking the shops he'd forwarded to Ren earlier. Callan proceeded to frown at the map for a number of seconds. When he finally moved, it was a head movement, Callan jerking his chin back the way they'd came. "Wrong turn," he explained as he walked that way then down a different side street, stopping in front of the entrance of the shop. It was one he recognized well, interestingly enough.

"Bennett!" the Dvergen proprietor greeted, her head snapping up from the flasks she'd been fiddling with when he walked in. She was short, maybe five feet and change in the heavy boots she wore, and pale, her skin a pale pink that would look sickly on a human. She was also tattooed, intricate and blocky designs in a deep black across much of her exposed skin. Most dvergen out on the rim were clanless, stripped of their tattoos, so the designs made her something of an uncommon sight this far outside of Board-controlled space. She adjusted the goggles that protected her eyes from the harsh artificial lights and moved over to them in the slow, awkward fashion her race was known for. "Not finished with your custom coolant, Bennett. You said you were upgrading your modification after trip to surface?" she asked in broken Common, brow muscles furrowing down though she had no hair to speak of.

"That's still the plan, Amma," Callan reassured, lifting one hand in an attempt at a placating gesture, then gesturing towards Ren. "He's looking for chemicals."

The dvergen made a positive sounding huff, taking a couple of slow steps towards Ren and extending a hand in what was probably supposed to be a handshake. "New customer, good. Am Amma. What do you need?"

 

[Vellum]

Ren flashed a grin as Callan reoriented their position, informing him that it was merely a wrong turn. "Fortunate." he noted with a dry smile. "I hope you know that this is as much your fault as mine," he followed Callan around and down a smaller street, "I can't navigate and talk, and you shouldn't have expected me to." he quipped, the tone rather self-depreciating.

Trash skittered across the street, and something that very faintly resembled a tiny version of an Earth-horse (with fingers rather than hooves) shrieked and clattered on top of a garbage can. Ren stopped, staring intently into the alleyway as the creature pulled itself up onto a nearby window ledge and slid into the building. Hopefully it belonged there, he thought, attention sliding back to Callan as he disappeared into a store. Ren caught up and slid in behind him just before the door closed.

Amma was the little woman's name, standing in front of them. Small, pink, and strikingly tattooed with geometric-like designs. She was unfamiliar to him, but he'd seen a few similar men and women since he'd been on the station. Noticeably untattooed, however.

"Greetings, Amma." he replied, "My name is Ren, it's a pleasure to meet you." he shook her hand and glanced at Callan. "I'm in need of some chemicals for our trip down to the surface. Mostly things for preservation of biological specimens, but also anything you have that can be used for protecting breakable objects." after a moment, he pulled a list out of his bag (this time paper) and handed it to her. The list was a litany of chemical names, both in standard and chemical format.

He momentarily thought about explaining the uses of a few of them, but quickly realized that it might seem patronizing (and he wasn't a chemist, but she certainly seemed to be taking the role of one).

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

CALLAN "MAD DOG" BENNETT

Amma's mouth stretched out and curved up in an expression like a lazy individual's approximation of a smile, and she clutched the list with both hands and pulled it to her face as soon as it was within her reach. She scanned over the chemical compounds with her brows slowly furrowing down over the goggles as her focus sharpened. No amount of intent concentration could keep her from wiggling slowly from side to side, however, the movement reminiscent of a hyper human child stuck in a seat except in slow motion.

"Yes. Have these," she told Ren with a jerky nod, looking up at him and adjusting her goggles before moving back over to the counter, walking while she continued to speak. "Plenty use for preservatives on stations such as this." She paused long enough to give a soft shudder. "Most are unpleasant. Preferred Core work, much cleaner. Unpleasant work is work, however." She paused at the hatch that protected her chemical wares from her customers and protected her customers from her chemical wares, turning back to direct an intent look at Callan, who'd settled himself against her counter with arms and legs crossed. "Bennett, be nice. Ren is good customer, can tell, and know you rude mercenary types."

Callan rolled his eyes at the chemist and lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture. Amma seemed to accept that as agreement, though she narrowed her eyes enough that one could tell even with her dark goggles before she disappeared into the hatch.

"I can be charming," the cyborg muttered, a tad defensively and mostly to himself, once the hatch closed. He wasn't just a rude mercenary type. He'd been a soldier. He'd dealt with politics and press. He was smart. Smart enough that his arm still functioned, even after being thoroughly gutted of electronic components and having it all replaced with illegal parts and unauthorized chips and jury-rigged wiring. Too risky to keep what might have trackers in it, after all, but the servos on it were too good for him to leave it behind. So, he tore the electronic guts out of his own arm and slowly but surely worked on it til it had full functionality again. Most rude mercenary types couldn't do that, he'd bet. Which brought something to mind, actually.

"You haven't asked about the arm," he observed as he looked at Ren, arms crossing once again, though they were a little tighter across his chest. His mods were something of a sore point when it came to his self esteem, though he'd carry that secret to his fucking grave. "Haven't met many out here who haven't asked about it." Even Vanthe had asked, in that dingy club on that dingier planet right before she accidentally dragged him into two separate turf wars and convinced him to join her crew. All in the same night. Day, maybe? Eh.

 

[Vellum]

Ren's nose wrinkled in disgust, wondering what use they'd have for preservatives. Given a moment, his mind filled in the blanks and gave him a rather disgusting image. "I can't fault you there," he muttered.

"I suddenly feel like a damsel." Ren commented with an edge of amiability as Amma warned Callan. "I require protection from you rough mercenaries. Too much excitement and I might faint." he added with a playful swooning motion, the back of his hand against his forehead. He dropped the act with a grin in Callan's direction, "He's been plenty charming, Amma. No worries." he assured the shop keeper.

The question about augmentations caused his playful mood to evaporate like water on hot pavement. He mimicked Callan's crossed arms, shrugging and watching Amma over the other man's shoulder. "It's generally considered bad form to ask about physical differences. Especially among one's own species, to my knowledge. You didn't ask about my unique coloring, so didn't ask about your augmentations." he replied, lifting one hand in a gesture to his white hair and light skin, but lack of other albino traits.

"That said, I am curious. You're a marvel to me. Augments are illegal where I'm from, and uncommon even in the black market. Exos don't interface with them very well, so they don't bother importing them or having anyone trained to do the procedure." he explained, his arms still crossed. Ren could tell himself all day that he didn't care about his half-breed status, but his face still felt hot with shame when they even neared the topic.​

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

CALLAN "MAD DOG" BENNETT

Callan stared at Ren with narrowed eyes, unsure if he was supposed to laugh at the man's playful antics or just...glare, or something, and the moment had long passed by the time he'd made a decision on it. The assurance that Callan had been plenty charming so far brought some heat to his cheeks and inspired him to awkwardly shift his weight to his other foot, but he didn't deign to stammer out a thank you or anything equally embarrassing. It did confirm his suspicion, however; Ren was slowly but surely going to strip away his dignity before finally ending him.

Ren's shift into a more defensive stance caught Callan's full attention, his eyes cold and hard like glacial ice while he listened to Ren speak his piece. Exos, huh? Interesting. It took a few moments for Callan to determine how he wanted to play his response, stroking the index finger of his metal hand across his lower lip as he did so. On one hand, Ren didn't seem too put off by Callan thus far (which was probably a positive) and being an ass when the other man was obviously curious but courteous enough not to pry would likely accomplish that. He'd also called Callan a "marvel", and didn't that just brighten the blush on the cyborg's cheeks. On the other, he didn't particularly care to discuss the details of his augmentations. With anyone. Especially a green crew member.

"I've got four augs," Callan snapped after coming to his decision, hand moving away from his mouth to make an irritated gesture. His tight posture was evidence to how little he wanted to discuss this, if his tone wasn't enough to indicate as much. "Five if you count all the muscle enhancements, or the wiring and shit that was slapped into my skull to ease the integration of the augs into my systems or whatever." There was also a few chips placed in there for better mental processing and memory storage, but that was something he usually kept to himself. Easier for people to underestimate him that way. He tugged at the sleeves of his jacket and pulled it off as he spoke, movements short and precise, because doing the show along with the tell tended to prevent stupid questions. "All four were voluntary. You wouldn't believe the cost of the augs and the surgeries even if I showed you. No, I don't have any fucking 'gadgets'."

The jacket came off after he'd finished that line of thought, and Callan tossed the jacket down on the counter before walking stiffly over to Ren. He was in a plain black shirt with its shoulders neatly cut off, the color matching well with the dark metal of his left arm. Callan visibly hesitated when he drew close to Ren, the scowl he'd been wearing since he began speaking growing deeper by the second, but he still offered his left arm for Ren to look at. It was obviously an augment meant for combat. There was no grace in the shape of the thing, no sleek design or complicated accessories. Just durable metal plates whose scars testified to its use over the years Callan had had it. "My other three," Callan murmured, voice barely louder than a whisper and face turned completely away from Ren, "are my legs, both of 'em from the knee down, and my entire spine from my arse to my skull."

 

[Vellum]

Ren's eyebrows quirked, a look of clinical curiosity curtaining over his features as he looked at the mechanical arm. Although lacking the grace of slim wires and shiny plating, he could see a lovely practicality to the piece. The plates had been beaten and scarred, if there was paint on them, he couldn't tell. He gently touched the wrist joint, pale eyes scrutinizing.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he blurted without thinking, hands tucking into his jacket pockets. The resulting wince flashed across his face as his common sense caught up with his mouth. It was clear that Callan was disquieted by the conversation, both from his tight shoulders and lack of eye contact. Most people didn't like it when he cut right down to sensitive issues, though. A lesson he'd learned well in training.

Not well enough, apparently.

"I think they suit you, I mean. I've heard the prettier models are shit, you know? They're not meant for combat, or anything really. They're just for pretty aristocrats. These combat models are really fuckin' cool. You should probably let someone polish the plates and give it a pretty new coat of black paint or whatever your favorite color is, but I think they're pretty amazing. And you had to go through all the mods to even handle this, so you're pretty much twice as badass as any regular human. " Ren continued, going brilliant red in the face and slowly veering into the realm of inanity.

He caught up with his mouth again, and suddenly closed it with a click. "Feel free to shoot me for being a dick now. I'm sure at least half of that was offensive." he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and silently praying for Amma to suddenly have found what they needed and save him from himself and his inability to leave things alone.

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

CALLAN "MAD DOG" BENNETT

Well. That was one of the last reactions Callan had expected. It was right down there with dancing for joy, or screaming like a madman and trying to rip his arm out, or something equally strange. The clinical curiosity he expected. The touch he expected. Then he'd assumed there would be an inane question or two and the moment would be over and he could go awkwardly nurse his pride back over by the counter. But, to match the pattern Ren was quickly establishing as a permanent thing, the scientist surprised him yet again. What was that saying about assumptions and asses? "Thank you," hovered on Callan's lips, mouth opening like he was going to form the first syllable, but he didn't actually voice the words. Couldn't voice the words, really, with the surprise derailing his conscious thought and the lump in this throat halting the words in their tracks. His expression had even softened in his astonishment, albeit that 'softened' meant he merely looked like he had a case of resting bitchface instead of looking like he was constantly sucking on some kind of incredibly sour candy. His eyes were far less of a cold blue, wide open and focused on Ren, and his lips were less scowly than they'd been all day and maybe even nearly quirking up at the corners.

He'd gotten a lot of reactions from other people on his augments of the years. Compliments or criticism or questions or even outright judgement, sometimes, though that was mostly after leaving the Core. But he hadn't met anyone who'd told him it wasn't something to be ashamed of. Callan would still be ashamed of it, of course; his cycles of self-degradation were far too long instituted to be overturned by a passing comment from a scientist-soldier trying his hand at treasure hunting. Even so, the effort was...appreciated. Some warm feeling that was suspiciously like a positive emotion curled in his chest, and Callan's gut reaction was to stomp down what he could and valiantly ignore the rest. So he did, taking a step or two back and crossing his arms once again. Back to a defensive mode.

"You aren't worth the ammo," Callan responded, mimicking a neutral but vaguely sarcastic tone quite well, his eyes flicking back over to Ren after he determined his face was safely back to his usual angry looking expression. The words were meant as some kind of sarcastic joke, especially since his gun operated off laser tech anyways. Charge was a thing he had to worry about, sure, but that wasn't ammo by any technical definition of the word. "'Sides, I've heard worse about my augs than 'pretty much twice as badass as any regular human'. Usually it's something like 'is it going to explode' or 'aren't you afraid your arm'll gain sentience' or 'what happened to your arm'," he added after a moment, showing his gratitude by being willingly conversational for once. The words didn't even sound like he'd had to force them past a dozen reasons why he didn't want to say them and then his pride to get them out.

Amma opened the hatch and returned to the main shop area as Callan was finishing up his observations, her eyes once again narrowed suspiciously at him and likely taking in the loss of his jacket and new location. "You were nice to Ren?" she asked him as she approached in the slow way of her people, carrying all manner of containers for the chemicals Ren had requested in these nifty little boxes designed for such things. The boxes were divvied up into eight sections and the containers all fit within a single section, plus the boxes stacked quite neatly. Efficient, if not particularly eye pleasing, like much Dvergar tech. She offered the boxes to Callan once she reached him with a challenging expression. Callan took the lot, giving her a similarly challenging expression and refusing to give her question the dignity of an answer. He'd been well behaved, dammit.

 

[Vellum]

Ren offered a weak smile, face still red hot. "Oh thanks, that's a real boost to my pride." he replied. "Who knew that not being shot at could feel worse than being shot?" he joked. He dropped his head, scratching the back of his neck nervously while staring at the ground again. "Do people really ask things like that? When half of homes in Board Space have AI servants that neither have gained sentience nor randomly exploded?" he wondered.

Amma interrupted his conquest of information, bringing with her his requisitions. "Ah, there they are." he chimed, padding over and shamelessly peering into the box to make sure that everything was correct. After deciding that it was all correct, he paid the Dvergan woman and took the box from Callan. "Don't worry about me, Ms. Amma, these merc types aren't so different from what I'm used to." he laughed. "You'll be the first I call if I need someone to keep them in place, though." he added, making for the door.

Even as a primarily loner type during his military days, soldiers weren't particularly well known for being well behaved. Ren doubted that any mercenary could fluster, offend, or gross him out after his time in the service. And then later his service in the academy had left him with a nearly unshakable state of jading.

"That's everything I need," He remarked to Callan once they had left the shop. "What's the story with you and Amma?"

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

CALLAN "MAD DOG" BENNETT

The frank question about how people could believe his arm could gain sentience or explode caused Callan to snort softly, but Amma's arrival prevented him from explaining that this wasn't Board space and people were idiots. Well, people were idiots everywhere, to be fair, but out here said idiots were more prone to misinformation and prejudices. Something about the stations and settlements being more isolated...or, as isolated as one could get with the extranet. Then Ren took the box from his hands and pulled him from his contemplations on the sociological environment out here on the lawless worlds. And snubbed his pride, a little bit. Was he not good enough to carry the stupid little box? Callan proceeded to frown softly at the back of Ren's head until he realized how childish he was being, then collected his jacket.

Amma didn't seem bothered in the least that Ren checked through the chemicals to ensure the order was correct, standing by with a ready expression like she was prepared to return to her mysterious back room and replace something if she'd made a mistake. "Yes, yes. Call if you have problem," she encouraged with a bubbly giggling noise, waving enthusiastically after Ren as he left. She also gave a pointed look to Callan, who was following close behind.

Callan automatically took the lead once they exited the shop, walking the path back to the ship's docking bay with the ease of practice and adjusting his jacket sleeves as he went. The question turned his head back towards Ren and brought forth his thoughtful scowl.

"I met her long before all this," he began, because that was safe enough to say. How much more did he want to give away? He was still quite grateful for Ren's earlier comment, and that inclined him towards honesty, but too much of that was fucking dangerous. He was a wanted man, after all. "Years back, she was working in R&D for the Exo military at the same place I was stationed. I met her a couple times, getting retrofits and such." He tapped his left arm to explain what the retrofits were for, but 'and such' was referring to the times he snuck down to the labs to check out what all the techs down there were working on. He was too important back then to get into real trouble for it, and he abused that power as much as he felt he could. "Went to see her the other day, too, requested some custom coolant for my legs. So, either she doesn't remember me from my military days and considers me to be another dirty mercenary, or she does remember me and considers me to be a bad influence on you. Can't tell which," he finished with a soft shrug, eyes back to surveying the people around them instead of sticking to Ren.

 

[Vellum]

Ren fell into step behind Callan, trying to keep close enough that he didn't get separated and could use the other man's size as a sort of pilot against the crowd. He nearly ran into him when Callan turned to face him, looking thoughtful. If it hadn't almost ended up with him running smack into his escort's chest, he might've thought it mildly humorous. He took a step or two back, nodding that he was listening.

Frankly, he wasn't sure he ever met anyone from Research while he was in the military. He spent most of his time in the field, if he could help it. Perhaps time had dulled his memories of everyone's jobs and titles, but he was fairly sure that he only ever really had to deal with his commanding officer. Perks of being a star student and a loner, probably. "Huh," he replied thoughtfully, "it's a small galaxy after all."

What would bring an ex-Research and Development officer out this far? Ren was fairly sure that unless dishonorably discharged, the Exo military paid fairly well even after you left. The monthly pay for his service was half the reason he was able to afford the nice apartment that he had back in Admiralty Space. Amma certainly didn't seem like the type to get dishonorably discharged, but he knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

A small blue shape darting through peoples' feet (and other locomotive devices) caught his attention, dragging the historian out of his line of questioning. Instead of darting by like he expected, the blue shape sped up as it approached and took a leap from the ground. A familiar lizard landed on Ren's bag with a soft thump, clinging for dear life as it fought for balance. "You came back." Ren remarked dumbly, recognizing it as the same lizard he'd dislodged from his bag when they started this whole shopping trip.

The blue reptile's tongue flicked as he slithered into his bag and got comfortable, everything but his head hidden within. "That's uncomfortably intelligent for a cold blooded animal." Ren commented, looking at Callan like he was hoping the other man would confirm that he was seeing the same lizard and this wasn't some chemically induced hallucination.

((I named this post: "Sands of Time: The Return of Worthy))

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

CALLAN "MAD DOG" BENNETT

Gritting his teeth against the urge to step back, Callan reached out a hand to steady Ren, but he couldn't quite stop the breath of relief that escaped his nose when the other man stepped out of his personal space. It'd been a couple of years and he still wasn't comfortable letting someone too close. Not...not without prior warning. Maybe a written invitation? A written invitation would be nice. Not that he'd ever give out a written invitation to invade his personal space...all right, perhaps that plan had some holes in it. His discomfort didn't really show in his face as he continued his line of thought, however, except perhaps in the slight blush that colored him from cheeks to collarbones.

Callan hummed in quiet agreement to Ren's statement. It was a small galaxy indeed, but Callan didn't dare say as much. He was of the opinion that it was only a small galaxy because fate decreed it to be so, that everything followed a predetermined path and the only choice people got in life was how to feel about the events they went through. Any comment he made would no doubt give away some of that opinion, and Ren was a scientist, so he was curious by nature. He'd no doubt ask some questions, and that would no doubt lead to a debate. A debate Callan wouldn't mind hashing out at a later date. Preferably over drinks. Felt wrong in some strange fashion to discuss fate while sober. Here, though, with no drinks in sight while surrounded by walking traffic and noise? Not the place for such a heavy discussion.

He opened his mouth, ready to make some comment on Amma and her whole situation - he truthfully had no clue why she was out here outside Board space but he had a few theories - but Ren's focus on something moving caught his attention and the words died on his lips. There was a flashy blue thing darting amongst the crowd, heading straight for them. At least, Callan assumed it was aiming for them. There weren't exactly many other things it could be aiming for, given its general direction. His angle was all wrong to get a good look at whatever it might be so he didn't quite see the thing until it landed on Ren's bag with a soft thump, but he recognized it almost instantly. It was a lizard. The lizard. Callan's brows furrowed down into an intent expression while he stared at the thing, watching it scamper up the side of the bag and into the safety of the bag's interior. The lizard's head poked out a moment later, and Callan clenched his jaw with enough force that one could see the cords of muscle on his cheeks if one was to look at the mercenary.

He didn't want to do harm to the lizard, as hard as that might be to believe what with his generally murderous expression. The strain in his face was a visible effort to maintain some self-control. Otherwise, he would almost certainly tear Ren's back from his hands to grab the lizard and pet it. Gently, of course, he wouldn't dare harm the little creature on purpose.

"Its name is Charles Lawson Avington Pentworth III," Callan declared with confidence, realizing a moment later that he had not meant to say any of that at all. A moment after that, he went "fuck it" and committed to his accidental declaration, giving Ren a steady look like he hadn't just given their newly acquired lizard a long and pretentious name. "Docking bay is this way-" he jerked his head in the direction they'd been walking in "- and we're nearly there. How long do you need before we can drop planetside?"