The One That Got Away (OS)

City Commons 

Carved from the ancient rock of this planetary chunk, this chamber is about sixty yards in diameter with a domed ceiling that is one hundred feet tall at its highest point.

In contrast to the spaceport facility, which glows as if illuminated by a supernova thanks to high-powered lamps, this commons is more subtly lit. Shadows fill much of the higher reaches of the dome, while soft bluish-white lights provide a twilight glow to the rest of the chamber.

Archways lead to the spaceport via the customs station, a tavern, and the planetoid's commercial and residential districts.

Innokentevna glances back over her shoulder with a darkly mischevious smile. "Vell eef he shovs up ... " a jerk of her head indicates Kriskosivich, "Zeres a feefty feefty percent chance ve shall ent een a shoutink spree, tveen heem an me."

Vechkov limps out of the tavern, smoldering cigarette dangling from his mouth, eyes shadowed by the brim of his battered fedora.

Jest'liana perks up, "Anything I can do to increase those odds?"

Flaze puts on hand behind her neck and chuckles at his discomfort, "So you are a soldier then?" She says not knowing what to say and saying the obvious.

Maksimets glances down at the brass buttons marching along the front of his uniform's overcoat. He looks back up at Flaze, "it would appear so." He looks over as the limping figure exits Rockhopper's, and grimaces slightly, "tshaaa, that is one worker who will regret his next shift. Look at him stumbling along like he does not know better."

Kriskosivich wanders in from the Customs station, muttering rather quietly as he heads torward the Residential sector. He seems quite silent on much else.

Flaze laughs,"I do not envy him. I have been there and back and it is not a fun trip."

Vechkov does not appear to be staggering drunkenly. He just walks with a limp, as if from some sort of old injury. He makes his way toward a bench outside the tavern, settles down on it and grunts.

Innokentevna is quiet for a step, "All tepents on vhat ees on zee agenta, da?" She then turns around and walks backwards, calling out to Alexi as they approach, "Gospadin Kriskosivich, dobry vyechyir ... goot efenink. Shall ve hafe a meetink, come Suntay? Hafe anytheenk vee neet to straighten out?"

Jest'liana's gray gaze scans the area, boredom flickering in her eyes or at least appearing to. However, her musing doens't get much farther than Vechkov. She stays silent for a moment, watching the man.

Kriskosivich stops for a moment, looking to Innokentevna. He merely shrugs. "I guess, notink stoppink zat. And besides zat? Just vone tink." His face goes blank. "My sheep. Eet's meesink. No longer tere." Innokentevna blinks quietly, coming to a sudden halt, looking sharply to Kriskosivich. "Vheech sheep ees zat?"

Vechkov plucks the cigarette from his mouth, tapping ash onto the cold stone floor and breathing a plume of bluish-white smoke before returning the cigarette between his lips. He starts surveying the people gathered from beneath the shade of his fedora brim. His own wrinkled eyes don't make it past Jest'liana. He nods, perceptible as a dip of his brim.

Kriskosivich nods faintly, "ICLT Knight Errant. Vas zere avhile ago. I check on eet a couple days ago, gone. No trace."

Maksimets squints momentarily at Vechkov, then shrugs, "ah, perhaps he simply got the rough side of the bar-flies, da? That place has turned ugly recently, I do not know why." He glances around him, apparently searching, "I had thought there was a bench nearby here, I have been on my feet for /hours/."

Boris Smirnoff walks in and seems quite astounded at the large amount of people gathered in one place. He heads off to the side and finds a bench to sit on.

Jest'liana's lips curve upward a fraction. Her head inclines to Vechkov as well, then she's turning her attention away, hooking a thumb companionably in her belt and canting her hips to the side in a patient pose. She exhales, then wrinkles her nose, "...atmosphere controls. Temp regulators..." She mutters.

Maksimets spies Boris just about the same time he spies the bench, and excuses himself from his companion. Walking over to where the man sits, he gives a quick salute, "Kapitan, would you mind terribly sharing that bench with an enlistee? My feet feel as if they will fall off."

Drawing on the cigarette until the tip flares red, Vechkov exhales a bluish-white cloud that puffs out from beneath the brim of his fedora and shades the glint in his eyes as he shakes his head.

The courier raises a hand, slipping it behind her neck, her head tilting just a bit. She casts a glance to Jest'liana, letting it follow ger gaze for a heartbeat before returning her attention to Kriskosivich. "Ebat'-kopat. To you knov vho hat access to her boartink cotes?" There is a seriousness to her expression, rock hard, as she speaks to her often-times antagonist. "i hafe been avay far too long ... I knov she ees nyi on Quaquan, for zat ees vhere I just came from, but I shall trop a line to Kvicksilfer, to zee eef she's on Concortance, da?"

Jest'liana reaches out to touch Innokentevna, "Shall I leave you two to talk?" She drawls politely, looking from Kris to Kent. She offers the gentleman a half mocking psuedo curtsy, dipping one foot behind the other without bowing her head. Her lips quirk.

Boris Smirnoff looks at Maksimets with a slight smile, "For a fellow defender of Ungstir? Of course," and slides over to make room.

Kriskosivich nods faintly, "Only 2 other people deed, but zey both left a lonk time ago."

Maksimets lets the salute die a sloppy death, removes the rifle from his shoulder and flops down on the bench heavily. Releasing a booming sigh, he says, "I am going to have to speak with the quartermaster about larger boots. These make my feet feel as if they have plasma burns." He lets his head loll back slightly, and adds, "when the Journey is finished in refit, I would like to speak to you about checking out her crew on their weapons, Kapitan, if that is alright. Did you hear about the incident in the landing cavern yesterday?"

Innokentevna nods to Kriskosivich, her head ducking. "I shall zee vhat I can turn up, da? Vas she sail ekvipp't?" She then glances back to Jest'liana, acknowledging her touch with a nod. "Zee trials an' teebulations ov beink Ungstiri, da? vhen our luck goes bat eet really goes bat." She spares a conspiratorial look towards the gathering of militia officers. "Zo are eizer one ov zem zee cute ones?"

Kriskosivich shakes his head. "No. Not at all."

Boris Smirnoff raises an eyebrow,"What incident is that?"

Jest'liana squints her eyes. She leans forward to look at the Militia men. She leans to the left. She leans to the right. She holds up her hand and frames them one by one. "Cute. Define it. My version of cute? Ungstiri cute? Fluffy puppy feelings cute or drag 'em into an allyway for unmentionable things-which-only-a-person-with-a-truly-gifted-imagination-would-be-able-to-mention cute?"

Maksimets shifts his weight forward on the bench, elbows on his knees leaning forward. He drops his voice by a few measurable decibels, explaining, "situation with some roughneck deyvachka's, da? I will not give names, but a pulse pistol was drawn when it perhaps should not have been, by one of the Militia." He chews on his cheek for a moment, and adds, "I am not questioning your crew, Kapitan, but better safe than sorry, you agree?"

Innokentevna just barks out a harsh chuff of laughter. "last time zee alley zeeng happen't to me, I ent't up een a cell on Tomeen Kora." Rising to her tiptoes she looks across to the gathering of three. "I'll hafe to ask you for your best jutgement, da? My past heestory vhen eet comes to men has been one teesaster after anozer."

Tugging the now dead butt of his cigarette from his mouth, Vechkov drops the smoldering paper cylinder on the rock and grinds it beneath the heel of his scuffed boots.

Boris Smirnoff nods,"Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere. Care to join me on the Fang?"

Innokentevna spares a turn to Kriskosivich. "Deet zee beg PRMI sheep come by recently?"

Maksimets nods quickly, "Of course, Kapitan."

Boris Smirnoff stands and heads for the customs station.

Maksimets follows close behind Smirnoff.

"I'm keeping my mouth shut on the grounds that it may incriminate me." Jest says primly. "Either that or, just give away my edge. Besides, the pretty men are leaving." She begins, nevertheless, to saunter towards where they had been. "...more or less." She adds dryly.

Kriskosivich shrugs to Innokentevna, "I hope zo. I zent zem my request to feex it, and I tink I gave zem zee passvort, but zey newer answered."

"Tcha ... fife veel geet you ten, zat's vhere eet ees." Katya smiles, "I'll trop Kantakares a line too. I knov he has been bolshoye oferloat't zee past tvo veeks. I hafen't efen heart from heem recently."

Kriskosivich nods again, "Thank you. Eef I'm needed, I'll be at my room. Goot day." He heads once again torward residential.

Vechkov begins fumbling through his pockets for another cigarette. He finally comes up with a crumpled package wrapped in plastic and a scuffed silver lighter. He takes a cigarette from the pack, shoves that back into his coat, then pokes the cigarette into his mouth. That done, he flicks open his lighter, igniting a flame to light the cigarette.

Innokentevna watches as the two militia officers leave. "Mayhaps zey are like hunteenk rockrats. Zometimes you let zee small ones go zo zey can grov up to be beeg ones." She then slips her hands behind her, still holding her bag of muffins. She nods a parting to kriskosivich, "Da svidaniya Kriskosivich." And then she lets her slow pace pursue Jest'liana.

Jest'liana's path takes her, eventually, within a few yards of Vechkov. "You know, smoking will kill you." She says mildly, perhaps an undercurrent of sarcasm lacing. She shifts her weight and places a hand on her hip.

The man in the fedora tugs up on the brim of his hat. Smiles with the wrinkles around his eyes. Puffs smoke from the corner of his mouth. He deadpans: "Something kills us all, eventually."

Innokentevna shadows the taller woman, a splash of color just a handful of paces off her shoulder. for the moment she is quiet, unobtrusive, sharp eyes watching from behind a veil of black bangs.

"Yeah, but men like you recover." Jest responds without missing a beat. She raises her chin slightly.

"Until our luck runs out," the fedora man half-agrees. He shakes his head. "Vampire managed to stay a step ahead of me."

The dark haired devachka deadpans, her words low and quiet. "Zey took a piece ov hees hoferchair out ov my back, tri tays ago." "I think I heard about that." Jest says evenly.

Vechkov nods. "Payback. The Boromovs."

Innokentevna takes a few slow steps forward, her slow sashay silent. her eyes narrow, still shaded by the fall of her bangs. "Zey here?" even words, crisp words. Perhaps a touch too crisp.

"How did they ever get so close to plant that? More importantly, what did he ever do to them?" Jest says, tone mild, "Or how the hell did they find out about it? From all the hype, he was good enough to cover his own tracks." She glances to Inno.

"Not here," the man in the fedora replies, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and exhaling smoke. "Far as I know. Their quarrel ain't with you or the committee. It was with Vampire alone." He looks over at Jest'liana. "He couldn't hide his tracks from Grim."

"Zounts like zomeone has a memory far longer zan mine." She looks between the two, a quiet tap of one foot, then again, a count of two. "Kharasho ... because I am gettink tire't ov beink blovn up." She turns her head,"You goink to eentroduce me to your frient, dama?"

"Then I suppose that you, plus N'Sha-El, Jaxx and Teel are next on his little list." Jest's tone remains smooth. "So. What are you going to do about it? Oh. Forgive my manners." She smiles whimsically, "This is Kent." She inclines her head to Innokentevna. Innokentevna blinks quietly, a touch of steel in her eyes, the tone of her words lacd with steel, ungstiri fierce. "Zomeone ees goink to be comink after gospahza Teeel?"

Vechkov dips his brim at Innokentevna. "We've met, if only briefly. Vechkov Prague. I ran this place after the Nall tore through here." His brow knits, then he looks toward Jest'liana again. "This was payback for Vampire ratting out the Boromovs to the Nall. Didn't have anything to do with old grudges against you or me. Not directly, at least, far as I can tell."

Jest'liana shrugs, "Still. You know that if Sha finds out, if she can find out, she will be all about starting something up." Her lips curl up and her eyes glitter, "That knife of hers will find itself anthropmophized yet again, and hungry. I'm surprised you aren't out for revenge yourself. But, discretion being what it is..." She shrugs. "Poor conversation for the middle of everywhere. Poor conversation for a number of reasons." She shifts her weight, looking around the area yet again. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, Kent."

The small courier stands a few paces behind Jestliana, their attention on the grim mand upon a bench. Katya's gaze is shadowed by the fall of her hair, as she nods to vechkov darkly. "Prashu proscheniya ...my apologies. Zometimes my memory plays treeks on me. Shoult ve be keepink a sharper eye out, across zese tocks?"

"I thought you'd heard," Vechkov says, puffing smoke from the corner of his mouth. "N'Sha-El and Teel were lost along with everyone else on the Minerva." He shakes his head, a trailer of blue smoke tracing his movements.

Melody leaves from the Health Clinic's entryway, brushing rogue tendrils of highlighted hair from her face. In her olive-hued hands she carries her PDA, head tilted down to watch its screen as she makes her way into the chamber further. With a few clicks and chirps, the researcher closes out of her handy gadget and turns her face to a better sensical position of watching straight ahead. And coincidentally enough, the Ungstiri courier pops into her peripheral vision, turning her steps to bring her closer towards the courier. "Greetings."

Innokentevna shakes her head and stands tall, her head ducking once, resolute. "I am nyi gifink up on zem unteel zee boties shov up. Tvo hoopin' ungstiri deyvachkas on zat sheep. Ve are surfifors. An eef zey's join't fanterdeckens Crev, eets just to breeng zem back home. An eef z'at makes me look like a fool, zo be eet."

"I heard. I know." Jest says. Her eyes glint yet again, "That was why I said if. Grayback. Vechkov. Falkenberg. Hivers. Cottington. Val Shahob." She flutters her eyes, "I've learned not to count the dead until I see their rotting corpses. And even then..." She straightens her shoulders, "Vechkov. You seem damn bland at the moment. I'll do you the honor of assuming its my company, and not a personality problem on your part." Her mocking grin is accompanied with a wink. "But, I've come. I've given my regards. And... for whatever amount of loss you are counting for yourself, you have some of my sympathies."

Vechkov nods to Jest'liana. "You know me. I've never been big on emoting. Do I seem bland? Resigned, maybe." He draws the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling smoke that he quickly inhales up his nostrils. "The dead do seem to have a habit of not staying buried."

It just takes the first familiar footfalls for Innokentevna's head to turn, a dash of her head to clear her bangs, a heartbeats slipping of a smile across her lips. Naturally she reaches her hand out, the one not holding the small bag of pastries. Her head ducks, a wordless greeting, the somber tones shared between jest'liana and Vechkov casting a fell shadow. Innokentevna speaks drolly, with a grim gallows humor, "I am nyi a slug. Zat means snythenk can happen. An vhile your mysteries vere vritten tovn before my time ... I suspect zee last sentence een zeese tail has nyi yet been penn't. Personaly I alvay preferr't to be zee vriter az oppose't to zee passeef reater."

Melody fiddles with the powered off PDA between her hands, turning her curious hazel eyes on the conversational partners beside her grim Ungstiri. It's at the talk of people within the Vanguard - the Minerva - that she, herself, turns a shade solemn. She takes a few seconds to notice the hand being held out for her to take, organizing her PDA so she can have a free hand to hold with. And it's as much comfort given to her friend as it is for herself.

"Kent. Love you dearly. Still can't figure out half of what you're saying. But, I believe I do agree. Passivity is for ... darn. Its too late to think of colorful metaphors." Jest comments, humor fleeting across her expression. She looks from Inno, to the new lady arriving, then back. She deliberately returns to Vechkov. She is silent for another long moment. "No. I don't know you. Never did really. Beyond the basics of being sad you were dead, happy you were alive, pissed you hurt someone I cared about." She shrugs, "However, if you ever feel like buying someone a drink. Or being bought one, I might not turn it down." She chuckles, "Never any promises though. Shall we leave you to sit, resigned? Or should we drag the lady and her leeman into the bar?"

"No, you go ahead," Vechkov replies, tucking the cigarette back into his mouth. He stands, grunting with the effort. "I got some other work to do. Watch your back."

The courier curls her hand around the taller specialist, a firm grasp, strong, an anchor, a spot of calm to the dark conversation. She listens quietly and then lets a dark grin cross her lips. "Passivity ees for zose vho let Atropos stab 'em vith her shears." She gives Jest'liana a sure nod, finishing her sentence. Tis a step back again, close to Melody. "olks come after you dama capitn, might fint you more frients haf zen zey expect, da?" Her head ducks, to the grim man and his fedora. "Zo ... nov you hafe a contact vith one ov zee nev guart. I leesten goot, da?" But then she echoes Jest'liana's chuckle, a glance between the tavern and her companion. "Time for a drenk, Meloty. A touch ov light against zee Rock's night?"

Vechkov nods to Innokentevna, tipping his fedora. "You listen just fine." With that, he limps off toward the residential district.

Jest'liana smiles slowly, the expression lightening her eyes breifly. She bows formally to Inno and then whirls on her heel. "My ship is waiting for its live chickens. I've got to go bother the cargo handlers. Unfortunately. Watch your own back, Vechkov. And, keep in mind that refusing alcohol is even worse for your health than smoking." She tips an imaginarey hat to Melody. She doesn't move yet, however.

Melody smiles halfheartedly at the reassuring Ungstiri, squeezing the woman's hand. "I hope they can locate the Minerva... It's disturbing to see another ship lose contact with the Vanguard..." But it's not hard to tell that the girl tries not to think on this fully with deep realization. Yet it's a convenient distraction that Jest'liana makes in her way, taking her from the tragedy to the comedy - or so to speak. "I think I'll pass tonight... I'm a bit tired, and I still have some work I want to do for Stargazer."