Disturb the dead at your own peril: Chapter Five
HarakoniWarhawk
Striking from the Skies
- Location
- Holy Terra
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Once more unto the breach, this time with more fluff... hopefully.
Chapter Five: Does everyone on board have to be crazy too?
35ABY
Unknown System
Onboard Vixen's Star, Venator class Star Destroyer.
When Alphie had offered to introduce him to the other droids onboard, Vis had jumped at the chance. As nice as the 2-1B was, the droid had a tendency to ramble, going off on tangents down holes the human really would prefer not to. Ushered from the office, Vislor was left exchanging glances with the two sloppily painted B1's. Properly looking at them in good light, beneath the coating of blue, they looked remarkably fresh for 50-year-old Battledroids. The handful he'd seen still operational out on the rim had been by and large patchwork, universally battered and timeworn.
The skeletal droid on his right offered a hand, faded yellow paint visible through the newer coat, comm antennae poking from over one shoulder identifying it as a command variant. "Good to meet you, sir, G7-4522, defacto Head of Security at your service!" the droids handshake as enthusiastic as its tone, leaving Vis mildly bemused at the antics. Quirky droids seemed to be the norm onboard, Alphie notwithstanding he mused while following the two B1s, a short trip in the Turbolift depositing the trio in a flight control station overseeing the cavernous expanse of the Vixen's main hanger.
The primary throughway was unlit, long rows of occupied hangers flanking it as far as he could see, though only the closest dozen seemed to be active, the forms of some kind of R series droids performing maintenance inside the illuminated bays. The majority seemed to be Z-95 Headhunters, done up in white with red stripes along the nose, something about their dimensions looking off compared to the Headhunters he'd worked on when he was younger, bigger perhaps?
G7 and his companion were busy using the comm console to argue with someone on the other end, the stream of angry sounding Binary coming from it riling G7 up something fierce. More interested in what had the Battledroid so pissed off, Vis came into earshot of the droids, both sides of the argument engrossed in throwing insults at each other more than actually talking.
He had, through much effort picked up an understanding of the beeps and whistles Astromech's used to communicate, the sheer inventive nature of the insults was astounding and hilarious. G7 was giving as good as he got, the whole scene having the feeling of two friends slagging each other off. "Alright you defective offspring of a Hydrospanner and Hutt pleasure Barge, you have five minutes to get ready for a VIP, no funny business from you or the rest, got it?" a grin audible in the monotone voice every B1 had, closing the call with a laugh.
A nudge from his companion brought his attention to Vis, the human red-faced, barely able to hold back his laughter at the by-play. "I'm sorry you had to hear that Sir, R3-V9 can be headstrong at times, even for an R3 series". the droid explained, throwing an arm out to splay across the view of the Hanger below them.
Coughing into a fist to clear the giggles threatening to break free, Vis tried to sound calm, being mostly successful. "It's no odds G7, I've worked with a fair few R units in my time and they're all like that if less... creative in their insults". chuckling at the memory of a few of the more colorful words used.
The B1's flanking him, Vis finally got to see the glory of a Venator-Class Star Destroyers main hanger, coming to halt as the sheer scale of the place became evident, the expanse stretching on forever into the dark somewhere beyond.
It wasn't the largest hanger he'd seen before, but compared to those active, a life filled spaces... this felt more like a tomb. The handful of lit subsections cast pools of light, beckoning for his attention like a moth to a flame.
Curiosity, like it, had every time before since he came onboard nudged him towards the nearest bay, his footsteps echoing as he swiftly crossed the gap between it and the lift. Pride of place stood the unusual Headhunters, up close the craft definitely larger than the base model. Running a hand along its nose, his fingers trailed along the length, searching for the recessed Concussion missile launcher. Instead, what should have been a chamber the size of his fist instead swallowed his entire arm.
Outraged beeping heralded an electrical arc running up his leg, the shock causing him to smack his head against the Snub-fighters fuselage. Dazed and cursing up a storm, he ended up careering head over heels, falling over the irritating, still pinging R3 unit.
Too many shocks were making his head spin, the crown of his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Slightly blurred, his vision cleared enough to see another oversized Headhunter hanging from a Magclamp on the ceiling, silhouette backlit by the sporadic flickering of a lamp. The rhythmic flashing was entrancing, helping keep his mind off the pain from the collision and subsequent fall. It took his sluggish thoughts a few seconds to understand why the lights have stopped, the shape blocking his view ever so slowly resolving into a recognizable figure. For a moment Vis truly thought he was dreaming, for the woman before he couldn't be Vixen, her entire body, clothes and all looking as clean as the day she was born over Corellia.
Armor shining in the glare of the floodlamps, the spirit still struggled to stand straight, the weight of her outfit lending a light bend to her posture. Her body wasn't any healthier in appearance, skin just as gaunt, if a shade closer to a normal tone. The woman's tail swished behind her, the movement distracting Vis and judging by the amusement glinting in her eyes, Vixy knew it full well, offering him a hand to grab onto. Taking the proffered limb, Vixen easily yanked him from the floor, dragging him back just in time to avoid thumping his head against the Z-95s wing.
"You don't look so good Ad'ika, guess I'll have to give you the tour, we don't want you tripping over any more Astromechs do we?", the two sharing a grin at Vis's expense, not that he minded overmuch, the fact Vixy seemed better was enough to alleviate any bad feelings. The swarm of R3 units swirled around the pair as they traveled through the active hangers, the Spirit exchanging greetings with every Astromech working, happy trilling falling behind as they moved on.
Getting a good look at a half disassembled Headhunter, Vis took the chance to speak the question bugging him since he laid eyes on the Snubfighters. "Say, these aren't production Z-95s are they? The last one I tinkered with lacked Proton torpedo tubes and the size." the young man half inside the cockpit viewing the controls while he spoke, taking in the familiar controls, Incom's hallmark.
Vixy was muffled slightly by his position, but still clear enough to understand. "That's because these are Clone Z-95's, 16.74 meters from nose cone to engine bell, Proton torps instead of Conc missiles, a more powerful reactor, better shields and maneuverability, my pilots called em SuperHunters, for obvious reasons as you can guess. If you think these are unusual, get your rear outta the cockpit and follow me, I have a surprise to show you".
Mindful to avoid hitting his still tender head, Vis jumped to the deck and hurried after Vixy, the soft glow permeating around her saving him from any incidents or falls. This deep into the hanger, everything looked to be in low-power mode, lights off and the craft stored below the deck or clamped to the overhead racks. Slowing down to a walk, Vixen looked downright giddy, whatever surprise she was hiding sure to be good, though what said prize was, he had no clue.
Vislor had seen many starfighters in his life, from the common Headhunters to X-Wings, both original and newer variants, even getting a chance to see one of the rare TIE Defenders in a museum as a kid. The craft lit up by a gesture from Vixy was one he had only ever seen once, and that was in a Holopict preserved by his Grandpa from when he worked on this very ship. The distinctive wedge shape and red/white paint, appearing to shine under the light. In the flesh, so to speak, the Delta 7 Aethersprite was beautiful, every inch radiating sleek power. Without even noticing, Vis found himself running a hand along its flank, brushing the recessed laser cannon barrels inset into the hull.
This long after the production run ended, the Delta 7B was incredibly rare, the majority having been scrapped by the Empire post-formation. Each one of those, even in damaged conditions were worth millions. for a pristine original run Delta 7, Old Republic spec... kriffing hell, that would be priceless, if it wasn't stolen for being such a gem. He had to fight the urge to beg Vixen to let him fly it, the part of every Corellian that desired to go fast nagged him to do it, just to feel the power of such a relic at his fingertips.
Vixy was content to let him search every nook and cranny, having taken a seat on the fuselage of the ARC-170 sharing the bay. Vis knew he was acting like a kid in a candy store but he didn't give a damn, the chance to enjoy this near-extinct beauty in all its glory. Insistent nudging to his leg made him notice a dirty red and blue marked R3, the Astromech offering the human a Hydrospanner held in its gripper. Offering the eager little droid a pat to the dome, Vis slid underneath the fighter, searching and with some work, finding the main power trunk to the deflectors. Popping the panel exposed innards as precisely made as the rest, Kuati engineering at its finest, most expensive too.
"If you want Ad'ika, she can be all yours, if you wish for it...", Vixy's voice murmured from somewhere above him. Stopping his outright oogling of the Kuati artwork, Vis considered the offer. On one hand, he was being offered a priceless relic to fly as he wished. The drawback was he'd be liable to get harrassed, or, depending on the sort, killed for the ship.
"I'll accept it Vixy, but on one condition, you keep her stored safely on board when I'm not flying her. There are enough unsavory types out there who'd kill to get their mitts on a snubcraft like this". The hum of agreement from above was all the answer he needed and that was that. Burying his face back into the underside of the Delta 7, Vis smirked, relishing seeing Drugah's reaction on coming back.
This went... places, but it's enough groundwork for the next chapter. Even if I'm not happy with it.
Chapter Five: Does everyone on board have to be crazy too?
35ABY
Unknown System
Onboard Vixen's Star, Venator class Star Destroyer.
When Alphie had offered to introduce him to the other droids onboard, Vis had jumped at the chance. As nice as the 2-1B was, the droid had a tendency to ramble, going off on tangents down holes the human really would prefer not to. Ushered from the office, Vislor was left exchanging glances with the two sloppily painted B1's. Properly looking at them in good light, beneath the coating of blue, they looked remarkably fresh for 50-year-old Battledroids. The handful he'd seen still operational out on the rim had been by and large patchwork, universally battered and timeworn.
The skeletal droid on his right offered a hand, faded yellow paint visible through the newer coat, comm antennae poking from over one shoulder identifying it as a command variant. "Good to meet you, sir, G7-4522, defacto Head of Security at your service!" the droids handshake as enthusiastic as its tone, leaving Vis mildly bemused at the antics. Quirky droids seemed to be the norm onboard, Alphie notwithstanding he mused while following the two B1s, a short trip in the Turbolift depositing the trio in a flight control station overseeing the cavernous expanse of the Vixen's main hanger.
The primary throughway was unlit, long rows of occupied hangers flanking it as far as he could see, though only the closest dozen seemed to be active, the forms of some kind of R series droids performing maintenance inside the illuminated bays. The majority seemed to be Z-95 Headhunters, done up in white with red stripes along the nose, something about their dimensions looking off compared to the Headhunters he'd worked on when he was younger, bigger perhaps?
G7 and his companion were busy using the comm console to argue with someone on the other end, the stream of angry sounding Binary coming from it riling G7 up something fierce. More interested in what had the Battledroid so pissed off, Vis came into earshot of the droids, both sides of the argument engrossed in throwing insults at each other more than actually talking.
He had, through much effort picked up an understanding of the beeps and whistles Astromech's used to communicate, the sheer inventive nature of the insults was astounding and hilarious. G7 was giving as good as he got, the whole scene having the feeling of two friends slagging each other off. "Alright you defective offspring of a Hydrospanner and Hutt pleasure Barge, you have five minutes to get ready for a VIP, no funny business from you or the rest, got it?" a grin audible in the monotone voice every B1 had, closing the call with a laugh.
A nudge from his companion brought his attention to Vis, the human red-faced, barely able to hold back his laughter at the by-play. "I'm sorry you had to hear that Sir, R3-V9 can be headstrong at times, even for an R3 series". the droid explained, throwing an arm out to splay across the view of the Hanger below them.
Coughing into a fist to clear the giggles threatening to break free, Vis tried to sound calm, being mostly successful. "It's no odds G7, I've worked with a fair few R units in my time and they're all like that if less... creative in their insults". chuckling at the memory of a few of the more colorful words used.
The B1's flanking him, Vis finally got to see the glory of a Venator-Class Star Destroyers main hanger, coming to halt as the sheer scale of the place became evident, the expanse stretching on forever into the dark somewhere beyond.
It wasn't the largest hanger he'd seen before, but compared to those active, a life filled spaces... this felt more like a tomb. The handful of lit subsections cast pools of light, beckoning for his attention like a moth to a flame.
Curiosity, like it, had every time before since he came onboard nudged him towards the nearest bay, his footsteps echoing as he swiftly crossed the gap between it and the lift. Pride of place stood the unusual Headhunters, up close the craft definitely larger than the base model. Running a hand along its nose, his fingers trailed along the length, searching for the recessed Concussion missile launcher. Instead, what should have been a chamber the size of his fist instead swallowed his entire arm.
Outraged beeping heralded an electrical arc running up his leg, the shock causing him to smack his head against the Snub-fighters fuselage. Dazed and cursing up a storm, he ended up careering head over heels, falling over the irritating, still pinging R3 unit.
Too many shocks were making his head spin, the crown of his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Slightly blurred, his vision cleared enough to see another oversized Headhunter hanging from a Magclamp on the ceiling, silhouette backlit by the sporadic flickering of a lamp. The rhythmic flashing was entrancing, helping keep his mind off the pain from the collision and subsequent fall. It took his sluggish thoughts a few seconds to understand why the lights have stopped, the shape blocking his view ever so slowly resolving into a recognizable figure. For a moment Vis truly thought he was dreaming, for the woman before he couldn't be Vixen, her entire body, clothes and all looking as clean as the day she was born over Corellia.
Armor shining in the glare of the floodlamps, the spirit still struggled to stand straight, the weight of her outfit lending a light bend to her posture. Her body wasn't any healthier in appearance, skin just as gaunt, if a shade closer to a normal tone. The woman's tail swished behind her, the movement distracting Vis and judging by the amusement glinting in her eyes, Vixy knew it full well, offering him a hand to grab onto. Taking the proffered limb, Vixen easily yanked him from the floor, dragging him back just in time to avoid thumping his head against the Z-95s wing.
"You don't look so good Ad'ika, guess I'll have to give you the tour, we don't want you tripping over any more Astromechs do we?", the two sharing a grin at Vis's expense, not that he minded overmuch, the fact Vixy seemed better was enough to alleviate any bad feelings. The swarm of R3 units swirled around the pair as they traveled through the active hangers, the Spirit exchanging greetings with every Astromech working, happy trilling falling behind as they moved on.
Getting a good look at a half disassembled Headhunter, Vis took the chance to speak the question bugging him since he laid eyes on the Snubfighters. "Say, these aren't production Z-95s are they? The last one I tinkered with lacked Proton torpedo tubes and the size." the young man half inside the cockpit viewing the controls while he spoke, taking in the familiar controls, Incom's hallmark.
Vixy was muffled slightly by his position, but still clear enough to understand. "That's because these are Clone Z-95's, 16.74 meters from nose cone to engine bell, Proton torps instead of Conc missiles, a more powerful reactor, better shields and maneuverability, my pilots called em SuperHunters, for obvious reasons as you can guess. If you think these are unusual, get your rear outta the cockpit and follow me, I have a surprise to show you".
Mindful to avoid hitting his still tender head, Vis jumped to the deck and hurried after Vixy, the soft glow permeating around her saving him from any incidents or falls. This deep into the hanger, everything looked to be in low-power mode, lights off and the craft stored below the deck or clamped to the overhead racks. Slowing down to a walk, Vixen looked downright giddy, whatever surprise she was hiding sure to be good, though what said prize was, he had no clue.
Vislor had seen many starfighters in his life, from the common Headhunters to X-Wings, both original and newer variants, even getting a chance to see one of the rare TIE Defenders in a museum as a kid. The craft lit up by a gesture from Vixy was one he had only ever seen once, and that was in a Holopict preserved by his Grandpa from when he worked on this very ship. The distinctive wedge shape and red/white paint, appearing to shine under the light. In the flesh, so to speak, the Delta 7 Aethersprite was beautiful, every inch radiating sleek power. Without even noticing, Vis found himself running a hand along its flank, brushing the recessed laser cannon barrels inset into the hull.
This long after the production run ended, the Delta 7B was incredibly rare, the majority having been scrapped by the Empire post-formation. Each one of those, even in damaged conditions were worth millions. for a pristine original run Delta 7, Old Republic spec... kriffing hell, that would be priceless, if it wasn't stolen for being such a gem. He had to fight the urge to beg Vixen to let him fly it, the part of every Corellian that desired to go fast nagged him to do it, just to feel the power of such a relic at his fingertips.
Vixy was content to let him search every nook and cranny, having taken a seat on the fuselage of the ARC-170 sharing the bay. Vis knew he was acting like a kid in a candy store but he didn't give a damn, the chance to enjoy this near-extinct beauty in all its glory. Insistent nudging to his leg made him notice a dirty red and blue marked R3, the Astromech offering the human a Hydrospanner held in its gripper. Offering the eager little droid a pat to the dome, Vis slid underneath the fighter, searching and with some work, finding the main power trunk to the deflectors. Popping the panel exposed innards as precisely made as the rest, Kuati engineering at its finest, most expensive too.
"If you want Ad'ika, she can be all yours, if you wish for it...", Vixy's voice murmured from somewhere above him. Stopping his outright oogling of the Kuati artwork, Vis considered the offer. On one hand, he was being offered a priceless relic to fly as he wished. The drawback was he'd be liable to get harrassed, or, depending on the sort, killed for the ship.
"I'll accept it Vixy, but on one condition, you keep her stored safely on board when I'm not flying her. There are enough unsavory types out there who'd kill to get their mitts on a snubcraft like this". The hum of agreement from above was all the answer he needed and that was that. Burying his face back into the underside of the Delta 7, Vis smirked, relishing seeing Drugah's reaction on coming back.
This went... places, but it's enough groundwork for the next chapter. Even if I'm not happy with it.
