Revelations From Detention

Silvereye waits outside of the Militia's detention center, his arms folded over his chest while he watches the main entrance to the building. Behind the Battleclaw are a pair of well armed marines standing guard on either side of the security door. (repose)

Stalking up from the militia's groundcar line comes the imposing, robed form of Longtooth, listening to a militiaman go on about.. is he talking about /kits/? Yes. Yes. There are /holos/ being shown. On both sides. And /compared/.

Incorrigible, both of them.

Ripplefur pads through the corridors with the confidence of familiarity, but a posture straight and stiff with uncertainty; movements muted by concerns. Rounding the last corner, she relaxes a touch upon seeing the familiar shape of her Promised, but her ears do not fully rise yet and her tail remains stiffly out as if for extra balance as she quickly lopes toward him.

Silvereye nods to Ripplefur, giving her a slight flick of his tail as he waits for her to close the gap and join him. He smiles lightly, letting the professional demeanor drop so that some affection and reassurance can filter through. "Hey." He greets her. "Thanks for coming. We really do need your help."

"And that one we are thinking of calling Snowfur - " Stars's demarian is oddly accented, but cultured, and proud.. but he looks up, as that familiar voice sounds. "And /there/ he is. Thank you - "

The militiaman gets a swat on the shoulder, a flick of the tail, amused - "Come by the temple later - we'll finish this." His voice raises, "Silvereye! Did you bathe? You look less mangy."

Ripplefur manages a small, fleeting smile in return before she nods somberly. "Anything I can do...though I do not know how well I will be received also," she says with a touch of old misery. Her Demarese is flavored too in some near-indefinable way - rolling and rhythmic where it is not overly precise.

"You'll be fine." Silvereye replies. "Just going to talk to them." His ear twitches, a slight frown of annoyance coming over his features as he hears a familiar voice. The Battleclaw looks up towards Stars, tail lashing a bit. "Yes, I'm no longer one of the unwashed, Lord Windracer." He replies before a smirk crosses his features. "You're a witness...Come on inside." He waves to the marines to let them in.

Stars blinks, but tags along - "Ah. Well I am. I was hoping I had company." The big merc follows, "What, precisely, am I witnessing?" Ripplefur gets a flash of teeth, a friendly bob of his head, "A pleasure, dear lady. And whatever he told you, it is lies. Foul lies, and exaggerations."

Ripplefur blinks, glancing up in surprise when Stars is included, apparently having not noticed the Demarian's hail to Silvereye in her preoccupation. Distractedly following the complicated exchange of paperwork and authorizations involved in what they are about to arrange, she nods formally to the other male with a touch of paw to mouth and heart in greeting. "Lord Windracer," she echoes with a touch of curiosity. "Were you once of Gleaming Star, then?" There is a reflexive twitch of her whiskers at the attempted humor, and she returns easily, "You are so quick to protest when you do not know if it is flattery or insult he gives you?"

Stars taps his muzzle with a claw. "I am a /pirate/, madam - in the end? It's best to be safe." He chuffs, amused - "And hardly. The Sand Mother, before this year, had not seen me for four centuries - I believe I was drunk and living in the dust when it was making a valiant attempt at gleaming." He offers both heavy paws, massive frame shifting to look at her a bit closer. "Longtooth Windracer. I doubt I've much right to 'Lord'. Try Stars; my shipmates have called me that for over a decade."

"A pirate?" Ripplefur echoes with rounded eyes, ears finally pricking fully as curiosity and preoccupation finally overcome previous tensions. Muzzle unconsciously lifting with a proud rise of the slender frame when she is subjected to inspection, she meets his gaze boldly in spite of being out-massed by several orders. "Stars. It is appropriate, if that is truly your occupation. Greetings, Lord Stars, I am Ripplefur Windchaser, once of Tribe Thunderstrider."

Stars offers a friendly flick of his whiskers, tail weaving his amusement - reaching up with one paw to pull back the shoulder of that faux-desert robe... and revealing more of the splotchy pattern of white spots down his right side - "I come by it honestly." He pulls the robe back closed... and then actually takes a moment to parse that.

"/Silvereye's/ Ripplefur?" He steps back - ignoring the paperwork for a moment - "Well now! No /wonder/ he gets all poetic, talking about you - you almost put my own Swiftfoot to shame." An ear flicks, and, oddly, he reaches up for it - and to one of those gold rings there. "You have no idea how long I've waited to meet you, dear one - how well he speaks of you."

The ring is removed, deftly, and - strangely enough - held out to her. "Here."

Ripplefur's nose dips in confusion at Stars' reaction though there is a pleased flick of her tail at the mention of how Silvereye praises her. "He would have been most worthy amongst the tribes, if this madness had not set upon them..." she begins before blinking in puzzlement at the offering. "I...am not familiar with this custom," she admits, hesitantly holding out her palm for the ring.

"That's likely because it's not one, probably." Stars winks - "I owe him my life, Ripplefur - that's a debt that I share to you, too." He places that ring in her palm - it's heavy. Real gold, for whatever that means in a future where such things are not /that/ uncommon. "He doesn't see where I do, but it doesn't change things."

Silvereye finishes speaking with one the guards, nodding to him. The door is finally unlatched, permitting entry for the group into the holding area. The Battleclaw glances back at his Promised and Stars, motioning gently with his tail for them to follow when ready.

"A debt of life?" Ripplefur weighs the solid piece for a moment before carefully folding her fingers over it with a nod. "It is a responsibility for both the one who is in debt and the one to whom it is owed. Thank you - you are honorable in how you accept such weight." A last acknowledging nod toward Stars, and then she is concluding the exchange with a quick grin before turning sharply upon a foot to follow after Silvereye, calmer now.

The windracer follows - a bit slower, but then he's not running to his Promised, there, even if Silver /is/ cute. It's the eyes. Honestly.

He does ask - "So. Is this the ceremony? Swiftfoot will /kill/ you."

"Not as such." Silvereye replies to Stars once the pair arrive. He leads them into a secluded, spartan detention area. The room is bisected by a pane of clear, thick plastic. One side are our heroes and a pair of marines, on the other are the two captured terrorists who struck the political rally. They kneel on the floor in charcoal grey jumpsuits, their hands bound in front of them but they are otherwise free. Their eyes are cast down at the floor, though their ears twitch at the harsh sound of the door opening. What is immediately apparent about them is their youth, they can't be much more than adolescents.

She is no longer so wary or worried, but Ripplefur's demeanor grows noticeably more somber as she enters by Silvereye's side. Drawing a deeper breath, she clasps her paws before her; a subtly different air overtaking her posture when she lays eyes upon her native people, shedding a bit of the New Alhiran she has adopted as something older and more wild enters her pale eyes.

Stars comes up next to and slightly behind the pair, looking with idle curiosity into the cell; if their age affects him, it doesn't show.

TK burns something out of you, perhaps.

But he idly uses a claw to pick at that broken fang of his - "They're smaller than I remember them being. I am not terribly inclined to throw them back, I admit."

Silvereye glances towards Ripplefur as he enters, gauging her reaction before he turns to one of the guards, nodding an unspoken command to him. A speaker is switched on, allowing communication. "Look up." The guard intones in Demarese, and both of the young Demarians raise their heads. They very different front one another, one a charcoal grey and the other light as cream, though they both have sharp features born from a harsh lifestyle.

A soft rumble emerges as the two look up - a barely perceptible sound of consternation and disapproval as Ripplefur's eyes narrow upon the fair-furred one in particular. "Morningcloud..." And what follows is a low stream of what might be recognizable as Demarese only in the syllables formed, if not their combination. "What madness have you agreed to? You were to be a Wormhunter!"

Stars raises a brow-ridge, glancing at Silver - but moves to the side, reserving most of his attention for the pair. Paws flex. Claws stretch. It's just an idle, even relaxed motion.

The cream colored Demarian bristles visibly, a low growl emanating from his throat as his hackles rise upon regarding the female. "I am a Wormhunter!" He almost spits in the same foreign dialect of Demarese. "Moreso than you were ever a Runner of All Tribes, Ripplefur Oathbreaker!" Even to those who cannot understand the words the sheer hatred emanating from the young Demarian is palpable in the small room.

Silvereye watches Ripplefur carefully, gauging her reaction before glancing at Stars and then back.

The aging Windracer raises his lip, yes - but says nothing. The words clearly do not strike home, but - their tone, intent? They're enough. The pirate is clearly Not Pleased. But then? There's glass. They're safe from being thrown through it, being on the other side and all.

Ripplefur's ruff rises; fluffs, along with her tail, even as her ears flatten into near invisibility at the challenge. "A Wormhunter provides for the tribe, not lead the charge to its destruction!" she snaps back. "At least I still remember the responsibilities for the tribe's care and survival, though they had cast me out for fear, which is less than I can say for you! I broke no oaths...if anything, it is the tribes who are breaking their promise. Why are you allowing them to destroy themselves like this? How can you still call yourselves the People when you resort to such cowardly tactics?"

"We have done nothing that is out of line with our traditions of the necessity facing our People!" Morningcloud replies, hissing through his fangs as his own ears disappear in the passion of his words. "We could have killed many more of the Interlopers and stained their colony with the same blood that stains our sands! But we have chosen not to, to give peace one final chance as the laws of the People dictate." He sneers, tail curling by his legs. "But you know nothing of our laws or customs. And what are the tribes but unfaithful like you, whoring themselves to these Interlopers! We are not the tribes, Ripplefur. We are the People, and we lie down no longer!"

Silvereye steps closer to Ripplefur but does not touch her, his focus completely on her and not the conversation at hand. He seems ready for her emotion, his entire form tense.

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Stars has /no idea/ what those words are, bandied about.. but sneer-kit, there?

Stars crouches, peering across at him, heavy paw rubbing at his own muzzle. There's nothing more than curiosity in those golden eyes, the massive former merc absorbing every nuance of that kit's rage, and righteousness.

"You know nothing of the tribe's lore you ungrateful whelp, whereas I carry them all within me," Ripplefur seethes. "When have we ever attacked like this, without warning and with deceit, and dared to call it a warning and a chance at reconciliation? You say you disdain those who once walked with our revered ancestors, and yet you do not disdain to use their weapons! You are worse than a liar - you are a hypocrite. At least a liar knows his own wrong, while you blindly deny the evidence that lies before you." Her teeth are bared, claws flexing out with rhythmic curls of her fingers in her frustration; blind and deaf to who else is nearby.

Morningcloud snorts derisively. "And who are you to speak of hypocrites, who claims to serve our people while in the arms of our enemies?" He shakes his head. "And I am entreated to be *grateful*, to grovel at the feet of our new masters and share their bed as you do. I should have expected to see you here, but I did not expect that you would have forgotten yourself so thoroughly. But you and this entire abomination will have your reckoning. I swear it." Then he falls silent, the proud eyes of his companion upon him before both avert their gaze to the floor in defiance.

Stars is nothing, if not patient. He still watches, his tail flicking. Left, right. Left - agitated, even as the rest of him remains still.

Ripplefur snarls - the normally regal and aloof demeanor lost to the simple need to fight back, betraying her own relative youth and idealistic need for justice before she turns sharply away; trembling. "Those who spit upon the Mother's gift of food because it crawls beneath the earth deserve to starve. If you are ungrateful for the form in which her aid comes, she will disdain you just as you disdain her," she hisses, quoting a well-known tribal homily.

There is no response from Morningcloud except for an agitated twitch of his tail and a wrinkling of his nose.

Silvereye steps closer to Ripplefur, gently placing his paws around her shoulders. "I think we're done." He says softly, offering himself to her if she needs it.

Stars growls, softly - "You're going to have to teach me.. that." Still, he watches Morningcloud. Oddly enough he asks, curiously - "I thought you tribal types hated guns?" He stands, graceful enough, but with a bit of a wince, absently reaching down to rub at his hip. "Mmph. Funny how things change. Next time you try to stab someone? Work on your predictability - you lead with your left before you strike, and your ears telegraph." Friendly enough, standing to look to Silver. "Tell me you got more than a word or two? It's pretty.. but suddenly I feel very old."

Ripplefur's eyes squeeze shut, muzzle wrinkling with the effort of withholding her frustration and the old pain of having her former status thrown in her face before flinging her arms around him, gasping into his chest in a more familiar language, "No...no, we're not, but I wish we were. It's all just a beginning."

"You did great." Silvereye replies softly to Ripplefur, running a paw through her mane. The lights go off on the other side of the plastic, and soon the two tribals are removed by Demarian Militia marines. He is silent for a moment, letting Ripplefur hold him as she needs before he looks up, replying to Stars. "A little. Not much. She's the expert." He replies. "We should get out of here, then we can talk about it."

"Fair enough. Or perhaps /I/ should go.." Stars eyes the pair - "And we can talk about it tomorrow." There's an offer in that - he's serious. "It'll give you time to sort the story, if nothing else."

There is a reflexive rub of her cheek against his lapel at the stroke of his paw before Ripplefur is reluctantly pulling away with a long breath. There is no salt-scent of tears, but her ears and whiskers droop with a wholly emotional exhaustion. "I...I should translate, now, while it is all fresh. I was not in the proper framing of mind to memorize, as I usually would."

Silvereye nods to Ripplefur. "I'll get you something to write with." He replies, trying to slip a paw around her waist. He glances over her to Stars. "Well, thanks for being here...We'll probably need from more you in the coming days. Thanks for everything, again."

"Anytime. You know that, Silvereye." Stars actually sketches a bow to Ripplefur - "And, despite the circumstances, a pleasure. Come by and see the kits, both of you - " He heads for the door. "Remind me to adopt you later. If only because it'll piss Sandwalker off."

The bow manages to draw enough of Ripplefur's attention from internal ruminations that she responds with an incline of her head in return - mildly surprised, and secretly pleased by the old courtesy; an illusion of how things should really have been had the tribes not devolved to the current state. "Kits?" she echoes with an interessted twitch of her ears, the tantalizing thought serving to bring her the rest of the way out of her depression before Stars' last comment has her blinking rapidly in an attempt to suppress a much less dignified snort.

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Silvereye just blinks after Stars at the mention of 'adoption', clearly not at all clear on what he meant by that. He shakes his head, chuckling lightly. "He has what, eight?" The Battleclaw replies to Ripplefur, though he looks to Stars for confirmation.

"Six. Seven if you say yes in the ceremony." Stars chuffs, amused - "And they could use an older brother. Someone to show them how to build a pipe bomb without blowing paws off. We both decided we weren't doing that until they graduated secondary education." That comes with a wink - "Demar's wings lift you both - " Limping slightly, he heads out, past the guards - "Me? I want a nap. Send me the transcript later."

"Eight?" Ripplefur echoes, aghast; eyes round and jaw slightly agape before she shakes herself at the pseudo-explanation. "That would have been impressive, even amongst the tribes...but I think you do not need to collect more," she manages a genuine, if small grin in response, raising a paw in farewell after the departing Star.

Silvereye blinks again, as it becomes clear that Stars really does want to adopt him. He doesn't really have an answer just then, jaw slowly dropping in a very intelligent looking gape because he finds words to fill it. "...Will do?"

And out the big male goes - tail flicking in clear amusement.

Ripplefur watches Stars depart with a decidedly bemused air before she reluctantly sighs and reminds Silvereye, "As much as I would rather think of how that household must look, it is better if I get this task out of the way than let it linger overhead."

Silvereye nods, guiding his Promised out of the holding area and back into the Militia Compound proper. "There'll be other days to see his family." The Battleclaw replies. "But you're right. This is too important."

"Do we keep having to go over this? He's my boss. I don't want to have this conversation about my boss."

"I'm not e'en talkin' 'bout yer boss. I'm talkin' 'bout that wag wot 'e's shaggin'. All I'm sayin' is, y'know, she's tribal, an' it's a security issue wot with th' terrorists, an' maybe ye shoul' shoot 'er."

"I'm not /shooting/ my boss's Promised."

"Maybe I shoul' shoot /you./"

"Maybe I should cuff you for treason."

"Wouldn't be th' firs' time."

And so it goes, a conversation steadily growing in volume from the hallway connecting to the main entrance.

"Silvereye...what can we do?" Ripplefur asks quietly, ears wilting. "Today, in my class, nobody knew what to do - they would not even meet my eyes. I do not want anymore to die, on either side..." She trails off, but this time due more to preoccupation than worry - one ear pricks as her forehead wrinkles, while she tries to make out more of the odd conversation.

Silvereye's whiskers flare at Ripplefur speaks. "They wouldn't look at you?" The Battleclaw asks with disbelief. "I will do what I have to to keep New Alhira safe. You will hold your head high because you have absolutely nothing to ashamed of. None at all." He replies firmly before his ears too prick at the coversation, one brow rising dangerously.

Why the militiacat escorting Mika into the compound looks so haggard is really open for speculation, but perhaps it is simply because the company he is presently keeping. Indeed, there is a desperate beg for dismissal painted all over his sable-furred face when he approaches Silvereye and Ripplefur, the rogue at his side - while she bares her teeth in a wide, mischievous grin and lifts a hand in greeting, he clips a weary salute for the Battleclaw, eyes and ears drooping. "Pardon me, sir. Mika Tachyon is here to see you," he announces.

"'lo Silv!" Mika greets, doffing a hat that isn't there. "'lo, Rips."

Any response Ripplefur might have made to Silvereye's impassioned statements is lost to utter bewilderment as she reads the escort's body language and then regards the tiny cause of his discomfort. "Hello, Mika," she answers after a moment; as ever, finding that it takes her a even longer to process the newly-adopted language through the woman's accent.

Silvereye salutes the other Demarian. "Thank you. You're dismissed." He replies before dropping his arms. He eyes Mika, looking over the human appraisingly. "Miss Tachyon." Oh. Oh no he didn't. "How can I help you?"

"Battleclaw," Mika drawls just as professionally, her tone underscored with the devious smirk and sly purr of the secretary the boss manhandles when the wife is away. It vanishes, and quite abruptly, when she launches into a sudden tirade, smiles turning to scowls and hands shoving into pockets. "Who th' Christ is Glitterfur Dawnsong? Seriously, /Glitterfur Dawnsong./ Wot kinda name is 'Glitterfur'? Did 'is parents 'ate 'im or somethin'? An' /Dawnsong./ Only /dawnsong/ I bloody sing is /snorin'./ I'd sure as sin 'ate sleepin' nex' ta /'is/ furry 'ide, wot with all th' /glitterin'/ an' /dawnsingin',/ bollocks. Fin' 'imself stringin' violins somewhere in goddamned Enaj 'fore 'e knew wot bloody 'it 'im." And finally, the point. One hand snaps up to gesture vaguely and irritably. "Why's 'e tellin' me I need a merchant permit ta ship in some blinkin' lumber?"

Silvereye's brow arches up ever so slightly at Mika's tirade until its high on his brow. "Because that's the law." The Battleclaw replies sedately. "Now, if you'll excuse me I do have things I need to take care of. So, please, refrain from talking to my subordinates about my Promised? I would appreciate it."

Ripplefur's ears prick in vague alarm, that sly tone crossing species boundaries even if its intentions are not exactly clear. However, the woman's about-face and then nearly incomprehensible yammerings afterward serve to dispel the last of the Demarian's unease into complete puzzlement. Taking refuge in the only part she understands - her Promised's leavetaking - she gives him a hasty farewell before eyeing the one she had been left with in trepidation. "I believe I should be departing as well...there was an important interview I should be writing down..."

Obviously, that was not the answer Mika wanted. She rivets a sulky glare onto the floor and mouths Silvereye's words in cruel mimickry, scuffing a boot and snorting derisively before she remembers /exactly/ whose company she is now keeping. A glance up, an arched eyebrow, and the Sivadian-bred Martian meets the gaze of the desert-bred Demarian.

A long, uncomfortable five seconds passes.

"Yeah," Mika decides, straightening and rolling her shoulders. She dons a rather poor substitute for the crooked grin which ordinarily comes so easily. "I uh, yeah. I shoul'... go... get that permit. /Th' law,/ an' all, I um... we gotta r'spect 't, yeah."

Pale eyes narrow at Mika's sullen response, and Ripplefur's tail lashes in uncertain disapproval as she regards the human's reactions to her Promised's answer and then the resultant attempt at cover-up. "Respect. Yes. It does seem in - how does one say? Supply is low? Low supply now. Perhaps I will see you again soon," she makes a last, polite offering as she begins to back away in the same direction Silvereye had gone.

Mika lets her, but damned if she doesn't roll her eyes the second Ripplefur's back is turned. Once the Demarians are gone, however, she is faced with a new dilemma. A blink, an uncertain look around, and then she wonders aloud: "'ow d' I get outta 'ere?"