The first thing that occurred to Mazatl was that, no matter how robotic it appeared from the fleeting glance he had of it, the intruder was unquestionably not one of the various drones he'd encountered meandering through the Saviour before. He bolted to his feet by reflex, the ritual knife held in a practiced guard with his thumb braced on the ricasso, and his injured hand clasped in front of him to protect his vulnerable throat and torso.
He promptly regretted the reflexive movement when the dull ache in his knee blossomed into a barbed, piercing pain that flashed up his leg. Mazatl shifted his weight more onto his left leg until the pain eased, not taking his eyes off the intruder.
Then its words, awkwardly constructed though they were, registered with him. "The Yellow Eyed Lifeform. I do not threaten you. I am not flesh and thus not agreeable to eat. I want only to pass."
Mazatl paused, breathed deeply, and let the rush of adrenaline wash over him. This was not a threat; he repeated it to himself until the animal parts of his brain began to believe it. Still, decades of combat training were difficult to set aside so quickly, and he did not lower his guard. Blood dripped down the back of his left arm, staining his yellow flight feathers, but hyperfocused as he was on the intruder he barely noticed the sensation. It appeared to be unarmed, but he was no green recruit unaccustomed to considering the possibility that an opponent's outward appearance might be a façade.
"Who are you?" he asked at last, then added with a wry tone in his voice, "And why should I want to eat something so obviously unpalatable?"
The sudden motions from the The Yellow Eyed Lifeform made λ uncomfortable. He did not think that he would fare well in a fight against it. However, it did pose an interesting question.
"I do not know why one would wish to eat me. But I don't know why one would wish to eat any one being over another. I have met many Lifeforms that have eaten many things. One I know even eats Dust. And I met another that ate an entire space ship. But that one was larger than you. So I cannot say for sure if you would eat me."
For a moment, λ considered if being called unpalatable was an insult of some sort.
The Yellow Eyed Lifeform still stood holding some sort of knife. It wore a grey cloth covering over its body, which was also covered in small feathers. The Yellow Eyes still glared at him through the metal face covered in ornate design. And behind it were... Yellow. A massive spread of Yellow feathers that sat behind the head. They were also scattered in other areas, the elbows, legs, and arms. Seeing these, λ knew he must get to know this creature better. He was going to need one of those feathers. λ did his best to relax and remember the correct procedures for interacting with a Lifeform of unknown threat.
"I-come-in-peace. I am λ, of the Riftborn. Custodian, born of the ไ. I came to sojurn here as a member of the Second Wave."
The sentence switched between λ's somber speech and what might be loosely described as music. The first break in speech was short, the sound made of a few interlocking tones. The second was longer. Pitches and strains jumped and interjected without an obvious uniting purpose.
"You may call me Lambda. And you. Will you have a name?"
((Thanks to Iarainn for helping me with his characters description! Mazatl wears a mask, no metal face. λ just has a hard time understanding that.))
"Mazatl," he said, slowly and being sure to enunciate each sound clearly. Non-Hissho frequently had trouble pronouncing the last syllable of his name; in the past few years, he'd acquired the habit of introducing himself as one would to a small child whenever he was dealing with aliens. Or whatever a Riftborn was. "Eldest son of Clan Redsail of the Westline Archipelago."
Was Lambda part of the crew? He couldn't recall having seen it before. Him, her? He was unsure of how to gender the sleek mechanical form he observed, or even if the concept was applicable. Still, whatever Lambda was, they had made no move to attack him yet. Perhaps it would be appropriate to extend them the courtesy of trust; Lambda did seem insistent upon the point that they meant him no harm.
Mazatl lowered his guard, then bent down to retrieve the ritual knife's sheath from where he'd laid it on the manta. "I apologize for threatening you, Lambda," he said. "You surprised me. I did not expect to be interrupted down here." After wiping the blade clean, Mazatl slid it back into the sheath and deposited it with his other ceremonial implements.
He was suddenly immeasurably glad his daisho was in the armory. Though he could certainly have killed any of the organic crewmembers with the obsidian ritual knife, he doubted it would do much damage to Lambda's more mechanical form; Amiqui and Cuicatl, the hereditary blades of his clan, were a different story. If he'd struck the Riftborn with either of those supposedly Endless-forged blades, Mazatl had no doubt he'd have wounded them deeply. His heart overflowing with contrition, he retrieved a bandage and some of the gauze sponges he'd acquired from the infirmary, and began cleaning away the blood that had begun clotting in the down on his forearm, sticking the feathers together in a gummy and unpleasant mess.
Lambda's form was roughly humanoid in organization, though the joints at its shoulders were—on closer inspection—empty space held together by some imperceptible force. Its surface alternated in dark and light sections of a material Mazatl couldn't place. Metal, ceramics, maybe some advanced form of plastic? He had no idea—he'd never even heard of the Riftborn before, let alone met one in the figurative flesh. Some portions were picked out in what appeared to be gold, and others in a deep crimson remarkably similar in shade to his own blood. Thin, waving tendrils sprouted from its shoulders like animated fronds of seaweed.
"I cannot say I've had the pleasure of encountering one of your kind before. I suspect you similarly have not met a Hissho before, but I give my word I also mean you no harm."
((I am also indebted to dugintostew for assistance with λ's description. It's very much appreciated.))
λ was glad that The Yellow Eyed One was relaxing and putting the sharp knife away. Its absence allowed λ to focus on the real task at hand. Getting his subarms on one of those feathers...
"Perhaps it is best that you have not meet my people in the future. They are often unwelcoming to others. The Mazatl is a Hissho. These I will hear of, but not met. What are they? And how to you get your feathers?"
As λ spoke, he began to move closer, far past what most species would consider 'personal space'.
"That." λ gestured with all four subarms at the blood that mared the beauty of The Yellow feathers. "That belongs on your inside. At least most of the time. It should not be on your outside! You must seen the Ships doctor, or the rest of your body will empty out."
Come to think of it, that would make the feathers easier to take. But λ was pretty sure that would also make The Mazatl dead. He did not think that would be a good thing.
Mazatl paused in cleaning away the blood, looking up at the Riftborn as Lambda spoke again. He'd almost gotten all the clotted blood out of his down by then, but they had posed a question he wasn't quite sure how to answer. What were the Hissho? Was that question meant philosophically or literally? After a moment's consideration, Mazatl decided it was probably best to be literal; Lambda could ask for further clarification if it was required.
"Hissho is the name of my species," he said at last. "We were more avian once, before the Endless altered us. That's why we have feathers—they're a vestige of our previous form."
Mazatl drew his hand back slightly as Lambda intruded into his personal space, gesturing with their seaweed-like tendrils to the shallow wound in his palm and babbling about the need for medical attention. Really, it was just a cut—he wasn't going to bleed out. "It's fine, Lambda. I've had far worse than this in my life. Most healthy organics naturally produce clotting proteins to prevent that from happening."
He sprayed the cut with antiseptic spray, then bandaged it with clean gauze and secured it with a strip of surgical tape. Once that was done, he flexed his hand a few times to demonstrate for the Riftborn that he wasn't going to bleed to death. "See? Done."
λ examined the offered hand. It did seem to have stopped leaking. He would take The Mazatl at his word. λ considered what it would be like to have fluids that one was constantly responsible. It seemed very messy.
λ decided that the best time to ask for a feather was now. Otherwise, The Mazatl might leave to other tasks and λ would have missed his chance. He paused for a moment to remember his phrases.
"I-am-sorry-to-ask. I-request... a feather. I-would-like-to-borrow-this-specimen-for-my-research."
Breaking from the monotone delivery, λ quickly continued.
"I know they are a part of your body. But perhaps if one could be removed? Preferably one without blood on it."
"That seems an odd request," Mazatl said, studying the Riftborn. Now they weren't busy protesting their peaceful intentions, they seemed to be displaying a strange fascination with his feathers. Being referred to as a specimen made him uncomfortable for a multitude of reasons, but from their behavior so far Mazatl imagined Lambda was simply curious, and somewhat unfamiliar with the intricacies of organic social norms.
"That said, I don't see the harm. I think I still have a few left over from my last molt. If you'll accompany me to the crew quarters, you're welcome to one."
Mazatl waited until the censer's heating cycle had finished, and it had cooled down enough to be safe to handle, then took it and dumped the ashen remains of the eden incense and his sacrificial offerings into the nearest trash bin. That done, he knelt to bundle it back into the embroidered manta along with the rest of his ceremonial implements, then tucked the whole thing under his arm and stood.
Traveling never came difficult to Lazahr, he was a Vaulter after all and his people had been relegated to a quasi-nomadic lifestyle even if it wasn't by choice. The only "home" he'd ever known was an ancient ruin to most but a fresh disaster to him.
Now here he sits in a corner of the storage bay surrounded by crates and luggage that he had come to use as a makeshift contemplation area on the ship reminiscing about the events that led him here, to the Saviour, seeking out information about beings he wasn't sure if he should be worshipping or reviling. Time would tell. Time and information. As his mind rambled on his right hand gently fiddled with a metal chain hanging from his neck until he at last took a deep breath and stood up.
For most of the journey thus far he had been nothing more than another security officer aboard the vessel, quietly doing his duty and content to remain an anonymous face among the crew but today that was going to change. Today was a day of remembrance. She gave everything for him to continue on, was he honoring her memory by being satisfied with anonymity and mediocrity? No, he wasn't.
Fastening the last few buckles of his uniform into place and checking over his gear one final time, he stepped out of the storage bay and into the hall to make his way to the crew quarters.
While the pair walked toward's The Mazatl's crew quaters, λ found himself considering the nature of his new companion. The Mazatl was a strange lifeform. The Hissho, altered by Endless. Sharp and Dangerous looking. The Yellow on The Mazatl still held λ's fascination but also his respect. It seemed a Yellow that could kill. Definately worth further investigation.
"The Hissho, altered by Endless. Are they all Yellow? All they sharp like you? Sometimes a people are smooth, othertimes sharp. Which are yours?"
λ caught the glimpse of another Lifeform as they passed through the crew area. One of Ylona's people? λ couldn't remember if he had meet this one before. There were too many of them, he had a hard time telling them apart.
"Hah, no," Mazatl said, laughing. The entirety of the Hissho, yellow-feathered like him? That would be a singularly narcissistic dream, and last he'd checked his name was not Horatio. "We come in a wide variety of colors. Though I am something of an oddity—yellow feathers aren't the norm among my clan. The short version of the story is that I had an ancestor who lived during the Warring Clans Era. Supposedly, he had the same color feathers as I do; my parents even named me after him."
With a wry tone, he added, "But yes, we are all, as you put it, 'sharp.'"
When they arrived at the crew quarters, Mazatl found his bunk and dragged out the salvaged Raian-style footlocker containing his personal effects. The metal reinforcing strips along the edges made a biting shriek against the deck as it came free, and he set the wrapped ceremonial implements on his bunk so he could work the combination lock. The faded stencil on the side indicated the footlocker had previously belonged to an 'Lt. P. Voronov,' who he assumed was an Imperial officer that had run afoul of the same pirates he had.
After a moment's manipulation, the lock popped open, and Mazatl swung the lid up with both hands. Following a few minutes of searching, he finally produced a pair of saffron yellow pinions from the locker and offered them to Lambda. "Here, these should do," he said, momentarily eying the human he realized he hadn't noticed on their walk back.
As was to be expected, other members of the crew happened along the corridor as Lazahr made his way to the crew quarters. He hadn't spoken with either of them before, content to remain anonymous among the crew but today was different. As they drew closer Lazahr nodded in greeting before realizing they were intent on a destination and likely not keen on interruption, particularly given their ongoing conversation.
Instead he shuffled to the side to let them pass, taking note of their distinctive features which wasn't overly difficult given their uniqueness. A yellow-feathered bipedal avian type creature and a construct of some sort with parts that didn't appear to actually be attached to one another. There were so many life forms and creatures in this galaxy that he and his people had never encountered but they weren't any stranger than those they encounted on Auriga, at least not that he'd discovered yet.
"Here's hoping some of them are more friendly..." he mused to himself as they passed by. Resolving to not be a nameless shadow any longer he kept a polite distance and followed them a ways until they reached their destination. Once they were inside, he waited until the avian handed what appeared to be a couple of feathers to the construct before interjecting as politely as one interrupting a private conversation could.
"Forgive the intrusion into your privacy and your conversation, please. We've not been introduced and it is among my duties to know the members of the crew and passengers. My name is Lazahr Valeth, security and crisis response aboard the Saviour."
λ took the feathers a little too eagerly, holding them carefully with two subarms. The excitement was momentarily stalled by the interjection of The Human behind. λ's head spun a full 180 degrees, the rest of his body remaining motionless.
"Crisis response? I will currently be in a crisis. My samples have been confiscated to the armory. I need access to retrieve them, since the armory will been locked."
The rest of λ's body turned to match his head in a sharp motion only possible by those with detached limbs. In the excitement of the idea, λ words began to tumble out without care for 'grammer' or 'conjugation.'
"My samples were very important and not at all dangerous. Have you assisted me?"
Lazahr cocked his head to the side slightly, dragging his gaze over the construct before him while his lips twisted into a very slight frown.
"That will depend on what your samples are samples of, who confiscated them and why?"
Stepping a couple of steps into the room from the entry so he could be more clearly seen, he offered a polite smile to the two afterward and waited expectantly.
"Excuse them," Mazatl said, indicating the distressed Riftborn with a brief nod. "I'm Mazatl Redsail, auxiliary helmsman. This is Lambda, who... honestly, I have no idea what their actual duties are."
Mazatl turned to stow his ceremonial implements in the footlocker, then shut the lid and pushed it back beneath his bunk. His right knee still pulsed with blunt, arthritic pain that refused to be ignored, and he sat awkwardly on his bunk, slouching to avoid banging his head on the railing of the bunk above his. They were obviously built with human proportions in mind, though he suspected even humans found them cramped.
"I am still curious as to your interest in my feathers," Mazatl said, addressing Lambda directly. "Though if your other 'samples' are missing, I suppose that explains your haste to acquire new ones."
Turning his attention to Mazatl as he spoke, Lazahr nodded appreciation at the introductions. Stepping a little further into the room, he moved to the side so as not to be blocking the exit in an effort to not appear quite so entrapping to the construct creature before him whom he just learned was expressing distress.
"The endless creativity of this galaxy never ceases to amaze me." Spoken more as an aside to himself than a statement begging response, still no attempt to mask it was made and Lazahr visibly took a few moments to admire the two creature before him.
Finally he turned his attention back to Lambda, "There's no cause for alarm, maybe I can help but I will need information first."
"I am not of this galaxy. Nor this dimension even. But that is neither yesterday nor tomorrow."
λ paused to consider how he want to procede. His next sentences could be key to getting his samples back.
"As I will state, I and my people are not from this dimension. I am a researcher, seeking to better understand this and other dimensions. My research is... may prove vital to my people. But my samples of The Yellow will be taken and locked in the armory. So I have needed someone with clearence to return them to me."
λ stopped again. Speaking with more than one Lifeform at a time was stressful. So many considerations. All he wanted was to get his samples back... Time, so linear and cruel, was slippping away. As much as he tried to deny it, he could feel its passing, pressing like the gravity of a dense world. He could not escape it. And each moment missed was a chance failed. So many lost... So few left. When was the last time he had seen The Counts? It had been... years? Possibly. λ did not like to think of what those numbers would show now. λ turned back to The Lazahr.
Lazahr listened quietly, folding his arms casually and keeping a respectful distance from Lambda. When Lambda finished speaking, Lazahr's gentle frown remained and he looked to both Mazatl and Lambda before responding.
"I understand what it feels like to be a stranger everywhere you go and to feel out of place every minute of every cycle but I suppose not quite to the level you experience it. So these samples you seek are all samples of Mazatl's feathers?" Lazahr motioned toward the Hissho indicatively as he asked. "Who confiscated them and why?"
'why is it that i never tend to stay here long?' he pondered to himself.
He corrected his posture once more and entered the bridge again.
"I apologize for my sudden disappearance, what was this about a space station?"
Mantovani had unintentionally said this at an abnormally loud volume and in a way that seemed like he had posed the question to everyone present.
'WHAT IN THE PRIMES GREATNESS DID YOU JUST SAY???' screamed Mantovani internally.
'you sounded like some ship captain in a bad Telovid drama! keep it together man!'
Whislt this storm of thoughts raged, Mantovani's expression remained characteristically stern.
'I suppose i will have to play this off as intentional' he reasoned to himself whilst dismissing odd looks from ratings with intrigued glares in return.
((as alice and zeros are unresponsive currently, im hoping either the cap or the helmsman can get me involved in the station situation.))
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Upon seeing Sister Skeler pause with a thoughtful look on her face, Valorum knew that the matter wasn't as simple as he made it out to be. He was no scientist and might well have been 'talking out of his ass' as one particularly irreverent Sheredyn corporal had once said in his presence. The intrusion of a loud Horatio into the bridge, therefore, wasn't wholly uninvited. Still, the Vodyani's expressionless face spoke none of that sentiment in the long pause he spent staring at the intruder before remarking:
"Mantovani Laboran, I presume? Brother Corvus has mentioned you."
Turning to the display-table with its many charts and holographic maps of the moon, the Captain briefly explained:
"The other celestial body of note in this system has yielded a unique moon more akin to a space station of sorts. However, our first attempts at remote surveillance have failed, and I am hesitant to risk the lives of my crew by landing anyone on the construct's surface."
"These samples are a variety of objects. I have collected them in many places and times."
λ's subarms began to flit around with a nervous energy.
"They will be confiscated because I will not... had not completed my duties with the desired haste. Many things are considered 'urgent' that are not. And it is difficult to know exact quantities of passing time. One of the engineering staff took them. I do not remember who, humans all look alike."
((The person who took the samples is just a generic crew member, not a part of the roleplay))
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