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Majestic [IC]

The realms with a strong focus on technology. These are the realms of Science Fiction/Fantasy, Cyberpunk, Steampunk, and their ilk. Examples: Star Trek, Borderlands, Neuromancer.

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Majestic [IC]

Post by Business Narwhal » Mon Jan 08, 2018 11:24 pm


Rick as the Captain from Kayatol
Georgeanna as the Intelligence Officer from Nyeusi
Kookaburra as the Medical Officer from Esik
Palacia as the Navigational Officer from Chollima
Joule as the Publicity Officer from Nakthiav
wadjet as the Science Officer from Kijivu
Śaraṯkṣati as the Security Officer from Falzers 2
Aurelia Corville as the Technical Officer from Koloz


Interstellar Council Super-Station, Exact Whereabouts Unknown

The pinnacle of cooperation in the Majesty Galaxy floated in deep space. No ships appeared to approach it or depart from it, but it was infinitely busy. At its core was a massive orb that housed perhaps the greatest collection of political minds ever assembled in the Chambers of the Interstellar Council. Surrounding that were three segments that spiraled downwards making the entire Super-Station appear like one massive conical shell. Moving too quickly around the shell to perceive were a series of rings that allowed the Super-Station to travel at impossible speeds through some combination of perpetual motion and more resources than the Interstellar Council would ever be able to pool together again.

The uppermost segment was futuristic in only the worst ways – bright artificial light shone over a sterile environment. The perfectly waxed floors reflected the countless people flitting around in every direction. Moving walkways zipped people around the center at remarkable speeds. A dutiful cleaning robot beeped incessantly at an Uchafun whose petals were littering the floor.

Funky furniture was collected in alcoves here and there, but only as a reflection of the many varied rumps that would find rest in them. In one such alcove, a Thavian sat across from a Parameshi with especially dry-looking skin beneath the dignified cloak of an Interstellar Councillor. The Thavian had his eyes shut and snored quietly while his camera pod continued to float around the Parameshi who took it as encouragement to keep talking. “On Parameshvar, we have had tremendous success creating laws that ban certain unnatural flavor pairings. It is taking time to convey our aesthetic and dietary sensibilities to some other members of the Council, but I do believe we are making progress…”

The confined office spaces of the Councillors were also dotted about this top floor. The doors of only two of them were cracked open enough to catch a glimpse of their activities.

In the first, A Kijivun argued in a muffled, underwater voice with an irate Ceran.
“Creatures that can sing are people. Have you ever heard the sea crickets that live in the oceans beneath the surface of Koloz?”
“This is a farce. Utter rubbish. Pseudoscience.”
“You only say that because you can’t hear their music at the frequency I hear 'em at. They are practically screaming about their suffering.”

In the second, a refugee of some species unlike any known to the explored sector of the Majesty Galaxy pleaded with, well whoever it was, he was too short to be seen over his oversized desk.
“We have eighteen families. We are just asking for any moon and enough aid to setup the most basic terraformation devices.”
“How many breeding pairs do you have?” The voice asked coldly and casually.
“Tsk. Majesty Galaxy has filled up quick. That will never do for a terraformation project. I can set your lot up in a single bubble at Hartuitor. All the non-breeders will have to go to labor camp most of the time but that should give you at least a little breathing room.“

The whole time the foreign creature was counting on fingerlike frills on its neck. “Eleven, then… We have eleven pairs!”
“All the worse for the rest I suppose.”

There were even more people in the middle segment, but there was none of the hubbub. The second segment had many floors within itself. Tiny guest residences that were little more than beds of various forms tucked into the walls layer upon layer comprising perfectly neat rows and columns of habitation blocks, and all of them were sealed up tight. The only stirring in all the halls was a lone Badangian who must have smuggled liquor aboard as he smashed a document against his doorknob and peered into the retinal scanner. “Phmassphmort.” A diminutive Bazhannyan in a slick suit walked up with a confident strut, almost certainly a member of some more important guest’s personal security detail. The Badangian whirled around on him quick but the Bazhannyan leaped up onto the Badangian’s shoulders and forced his head back a bit. The retinal scanner took in his foreeye instead of his reareye and the cramped room opened to him. The Bazhannyan slid down the Badangians broad back and tapped his rear end on the way off. The Badangian belched and collapsed on the bed before the door shut and all was quiet again. A day previous and the individuals who were now the crew of the Majestic would have been in their own little private accommodations.

The lowest level was newer and noisier. Engineers and mechanics scurried around working on a block-like craft at the center of the segment – the Majestic. Most of them were Alsadians or Mimpians, but there were some others too. The only sturdy bit so far was the bridge. Some ships ended up being little more than a bridge. But there was massive machinery in every direction of the incomplete vessel.

Strangely enough, it would be that day the Majestic would be ready to launch. The brand-new crew were gathered inside the ship-to-be. Some of them might have encountered spacecraft manufactory close to this scale and speed elsewhere. Some would likely be horrified either at the unfinished state of the ship they were now inside or the intense metallurgy going on just outside. Still others would likely not know the difference any which way. The Majestic would be a high-end, but by no stretch of the imagination flawless, space-worthy ship. It would never be the engineering marvel that the Super-Station was – more planet than ship, but a planet that could vanish in the blink of an eye and be at some opposite end of the galaxy, leaving behind only colorful, distorted space. No, the Majestic would be made more for a practical, unassuming image that would make it far more capable of warm and fuzzy missions and complex maneuverability.

Within the bridge, the crew was settled into their respective places – eight swiveling seats at private, secure consoles paired with unusual coin machines. Their mission would never be a simple one. A charismatic Councillor from Holod had said upon the initial passing of the Majestic project, “This crew is going to change the way space works.” Dramatic sure, but she wasn’t wrong. It only made sense that their journey would begin with posturing for the best toys on the ship...

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Re: Majestic [IC]

Post by Rick » Wed Jan 10, 2018 3:09 pm

“The slaughter is around this time of year, if i’m remembering correctly, those giant mollusks get incredibly fat during the winter,” Sabatl Asagi reached for the jar filled with small, orange frog looking creatures and grabbed one with his thumb and index finger, his powerful claws crushing the critter’s head.

Sabatl threw the frog like critter’s lifeless body into his gaping maw before snapping down with panache, the small legs hanging from his beak before he slurped them in.

“Incredibly powerful swimmers, especially when they reach adult size, some were even the size of my father! I remember one, during the first winter my father allowed me to participate, reached out with that tongue of theirs and wrapped it around Abatl’s arm, pulled him away with those powerful damn jets deep into the ocean. We were all worried because he wouldn’t come out after twenty minutes, then we hear my father laughing,” Abatl grinned, or what passed as grinning among the turtle like Kayatolians, at the thought of his older brother standing all those winters ago in shame.

Sabatl savored that image for a few moments.
“Not only had he lost the damn bull mollusk, he lost his eye!” Sabatl let out a booming guffaw deep from his stomach full of spiteful joy.
“Is that how he lost the damn thing? He never told me, always kept it a secret and now I see why,” the albino Kayatolian reached for two of the orange critters and popped both into his maw with pleasure, letting the critters squirm around before swallowing them alive.
“Yes, it was his way of being mysterious, and everyone fell for it, smart little shell head, just like you made the gods favor work for you,” Sabatl grinned that grin again, one full of himself.

The gods favor, Tatloani Samaru thought, was what the order of high priests had called his condition. Tatloani was born albino, which among his people was seen as a weakness, but he just wasn’t born to any random female. No, Tatloani Samaru was the only son t ocome out of his egg laid by Emperor Kortuga’s favorite royal concubine. The Emperor was no fool, he would not suffer such an insult as to have a son that would be a stain to his legacy. The priests were gathered and a naming ceremony was initiated, the priest would declare Tatloani a blessing upon the house of the Emperor.
Ever since then Tatloani had to live with the pressure of being blessed by the gods. He had to be exemplary in all tasks and duties, his father declaring him to be of the warrior caste. Since a young age Tatloani was schooled in the ways of war, from tactics to hand to hand combat. It was a debt that had to be paid for having his life spared, to be nothing but the absolute best.

“Ha ha ha, you know I kid, Tatlo, no one is more deserving of such a high honor as you, to be the leading example of Kayatolian superiority,” Sabatl said, not hiding the fact his voice oozed with sarcasm.

Tatloani scowled.

“We both know what this is, Kayatol fought to place me here so they could strengthen their position among the council, they still act like this is just another arm of the Kayatolian army. I didn’t come this far just to be under the thumb of the generals back home.”

Sabatl raised both massive clawed hands in understanding.

“Anybody else, Tatloani, would have been the generals lap frog, but you are the Emperor’s son, it puts you just slightly above them, as long as you don’t do anything too foolish i’m sure you will still have the Emperor’s favor.”

Tatloani’s rough brow furrowed, his current position didn’t sit well with him. Being elected as the Captain for the Council’s latest endeavor to cultivate peace across council space was a great honor and he recognized that he deserved it, but he knew what skewed the end result.

Ding, ding, ding.

Tatloani’s communicator went off, a single message flashing on the glass screen.

You are now cleared to see the Majestic

“I believe that will do it, Sabatl, official business calls, until I see you again.”

Sabatl didn’t even bother to get up or look at Tatloani, instead the giant dark green reptile reached into the jar and pulled five of the critters, stuffing them into his beak as he waved Tatloani away.

After taking the express elevator to the lower levels Tatloani made his way to the area where the Majestic was still under construction. Tatlo wasn’t the emotional type, but watching the Majestic under construction gave the thirty five year old Kayatolian a lump in his throat. This was his real future, one that was free from the shadow his father casted over him. He would prove himself to the people of the galaxy on his merit alone, not based on the doors his father demanded be open for him.

“You can take a closer look, sir, we have the bridge constructed…..for the most part.”

A small Alsadan beamed at Tatloani, who was about as tall as Tatloani’s knee.

“I am engineer Spreckle, sir, I can give you a quick tour if you’d like!”

Engineer Spreckle beckoned the new Captain to follow him. Tatloani went ahead, it would be good to inspect the ship now before it was completed, perhaps he could make some suggestions.

“What type of shielding will the ship have? Will it be plasma powered or will it use standard nuclear cells? I assume a full armor fitting will also be built in? Those robot missiles can be nasty when they attach to the ship, something light but strong would be preferable,” Tatloani walked with purpose towards the bridge of the ship as dozens of machines whirred away, constructing the ship little by little.

Tatloani hadn’t even noticed that he had left Spreckle far behind, taking a seat clearly labeled for the Captain. This - the Majestic, its crew, their mission - would be his future.

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Re: Majestic [IC]

Post by Georgeanna » Thu Jan 11, 2018 5:22 am

Even in a place devoid of darkness, shadows have a way of slipping in. Amongst the stark chill of space, heat finds its way around. And in the midst of all the purposeful creatures on the Super-Station, one Nyeusian found herself utterly under-utilized.

Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat. The ball zipped through the air, slammed into the floor, bounced off of the far wall, and landed back in Nyx’s hand as she lounged on the ground of the continuous corridor. The trick was making the ball hit the ground in such a way that it would rebound off of the curved wall in a perfect arc back to her—all the while missing the numerous passerby who seemed to not notice the sphere’s presence in the first place. Of course she had missed a few times, hitting a Tulaanese in the neck and a Ghamadian in the eye all in the same throw, but no one challenged her or complained. The most they would do was shoot her an irritated glance before scurrying off to whatever task they had before them.

“You know it’s bad form to hurt your fellow passengers,” an Albahrian named Taveh muttered, leaning against the wall and sliding down to sit next to Nyx. Turning her brilliant blue eyes on him, Nyx dared him to continue without words. “Fine, fine!” Taveh muttered putting up his upper appendages in a sign of surrender. His tentacles twitched slightly, betraying how nervous she made him.

Nyx took her predatory gaze off of him and went back to her ball. “What’s your name anyways?” Taveh continued on, rambling in his discomfort. “I’ve sat here with you for hours, only to leave you for food breaks, and you still haven’t told me.”

“I never said I would,” Nyx replied simply, catching the ball in one of hundreds of rebounds. Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat, For the millionth time, she imagined quickly dispatching of the pesky Albahrian, but remembered herself just as quickly—she would be part of a team soon and socializing wasn’t her strong suit. Might as well use him as target practice. “So, Taveh, tell me about yourself,” she continued with an inflection that begged him not to. It was a start at least.

“You really are a peculiar one; you know that right? Even for a Nyeusian,” Taveh said offended—he had told her his whole life story only an hour previous. It wasn’t the first time she had heard someone say that, and Nyx was willing to bet it wouldn’t be the last. She was softer looking. Whereas her compatriots looked angular and harsh, she was all curves. Other Nyeusians had critical looking eyes, and though Nyx could replicate the glare intensity of her brethren by narrowing her gaze, it was just another way she was different. Even her skin-tight, anti-emission suit was matte black, defying the trend of neon embellishments. But despite her more amenable appearance, all of Nyeusi was fearful of her. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why they sent the Mistress of Death out to a giant ship far from home—even predators are scared of monsters. Most of it was rumor, but some of it was true and no one wanted to figure out which was which.

“I’m sure for someone as pea-brained as yourself that must be mind-boggling,” Nyx muttered, throwing her ball again with deadly precision. Taveh widened his eyes and his tentacles curled in anger, spraying Nyx’s suit with a little ink. No reaction came from the unrepentant Nyeutian other than her stopping the cyclical throwing she had grown accustomed to. Once the fluid dried, it wouldn’t show anyways.

“Well,” Taveh huffed, clambering to get up and knocking into an unaware robot who beeped angrily at him. “I know when I’m not wanted. To think, I thought that I could woo you, you wench.” Nyx snorted, cracking a smile at the Albahrian’s gall. Fuming, the creature ambled away, disappearing into the crowd. Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat.

Nyx knew anything could be a weapon. A fist, a well-placed knee, a knife, or even a ball. So she didn’t think when she sensed her assailant before they attacked. The ball zipped out of her hand towards her would-be attacker with startling speed and accuracy. It hit with a thunk and zoomed right back to her. Getting up to haul in her quarry, she noticed it was another Nyeusian. He had dark tealish green skin, only a little lighter than her own, and a suit embellished with yellow strips of light. The Mistress widened her eyes briefly before hauling him up. A well-to-do Zegarian tried to offer his assistance, but Nyx waved him off before he could ask too many questions. A constantly streaming river of creatures was a great place to go unnoticed.

With the male weighing her down, Nyx shuffled down to the middle segment where her private quarters were. Throwing him on the floor of her room once she was sure the door was shut, Nyx perched on her bed waiting for him to wake up.

The Nyeusian assailant woke with a start, sparks flying off of his suit despite its field muting abilities. Nyx only narrowed her eyes at him, holding the ball in her right hand. Everyone carried a charge, as any good Nyeusian would tell you, and most Nyeusians knew how to control their spark to some extent with help of their suit. But Nyx had mastered hers a long time ago. Electricity was her specialty—controlling it, using it, bending it… She liked to think it was of her own volition, but likely it was due to her strong bloodline—even she had to bow to the strength and control of her grandparents. They didn’t rise to control Nyeusi on initiative alone. In any case, she dampened his field herself to avoid damaging the ship’s wiring. No need to alarm anyone.

“You don’t belong here, Nyx,” were the only words that were spoken before the male got up and checked himself for wounds. His eyes darted towards the door, obviously uncomfortable.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Nyx replied lazily. “I took you out with one shot and I can do it again. Why are you here Kivan?”

“Father sent me, little sister. He doesn’t want you going on this fun little adventure,” Kivan replied with smarm that cut through the conversation like a rusty knife. Nyx rolled her eyes and controlled her urge to laugh.

“Since when have I ever cared about that?”

“Worth a shot.”

Nyx looked at her brother and shook her head. “You should know better than to sneak up on me. Honestly, Kivan. I could have killed you!” A devilish grin was all she got in response.

“At least be safe, okay?” Kivan finally said after a long span of silence. He drew her into an embrace, wrapping his arms protectively around her. “I don’t want anything killing you before I have a chance.” Nyx shook with laughter before she pushed him away. She went to the bureau of drawers by the wall and packed up what she had brought with her to her quarters: her ball, an extra matte black suit, and her communicator. Not much, but enough.

“Gotta bounce,” she said, feeling the electrical pulse of a message being received on her device before it popped up on the screen. She punched Kivan on the arm for good measure before exiting her room and heading down to the Majestic. Nyx slipped in between the masses with ease, confidently winding her way to the bridge.

It was horrifyingly underdeveloped—so much so that it gave her a little start. She seemed to have followed behind a babbling Kayatolian who left a poor Alsadan in the dust. Overhearing his concerns, she didn’t disagree. The last thing she wanted was to be blown out of the stars. Even a couple small blasters would make her feel a bit better. Nyx skirted the engineer, not wanting to get into any more conversations than necessary. However, as she passed him she tacked on one request to the Kayatolian’s laundry list of questions:

“Guns. Big ones.”

The engineer widened his eyes in alarm, not having realized Nyx was beside him sooner than she spoke. He scurried off, not confirming or denying the presence of beautiful weaponry, but at the shambles Nyx could observe, she feared for the worst.

Watching the Kayatolian with renewed interest, she saw him plop in the captain’s chair.

Interesting. Nyx thought, slinking ever closer to the group of chairs. Not bothering to make any noise to alert the otherwise occupied captain, she leaned up against a chair she assumed was hers.

“Fine day for a party, huh?” she said with no enthusiasm.
Last edited by Georgeanna on Fri Jan 12, 2018 4:06 pm, edited 3 times in total.

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Re: Majestic [IC]

Post by Śaraṯkṣati » Thu Jan 11, 2018 12:38 pm

Will you not come as you were?
That verdant night, in shared solitude
has festered in me like a wound in time
and, poisoned with the colour of longing
has become a stranger to me;
so when our years of parting are spent
and we meet again under an alien sky
and I wonder if the hands in mine that night
are the same ones I’ll clasp tonight
Will you not come as you were?
- Majshid

It was one of the classic Kolozite forms-- a question asked, eliciting a reminiscence of some lost love, followed by thoughts of the future and terminated in ambiguity by the same question. These were the verses that had often set Thirty-Six’s mind at ease, in those tenuous early days when she had first forayed beyond Falzers 2 and begun working shipside security, when she had not been nearly so sure of herself as she was now. She no longer needed them for those comforts; they provided different ones now.

Oh, what am I doing here? she thought, shutting the book in her segmented metal hands and setting it down on the bed beside her. Here she was, her last day in the hub of civilisation, the glimmering jewel in the crown of the galaxy, and she was spending it secluded in her private room with poetry like some hermit. She’d already received the notice indicating the Majestic was ready for boarding; it wouldn’t be long now before she was expected to be on the bridge, conducting standard pre-launch tests and configurations.

Along the way, then, she could bid farewell to the Super-Station.

She stood up from the bed and made for the door, stuffing the book into her backpack as she did so. Most of her personal effects, few as they were, had already been loaded onto the ship, but Thirty-Six liked to keep certain things close on hand, and she also liked to stow away whatever curiosities caught her fancy during her sojourns through unfamiliar realms. Over the preceding weeks in which she’d been exploring the station and making the acquaintance of its denizens, she’d become almost as familiar a sight as the station’s cleaning robots—a strange little Version, her sole accoutrement the surah veil pulled over her head, leaving no nook uninvestigated and no question unasked and no person unpestered, her trusty backpack slung all along over her shoulder.

And if her curiosity, unburdened by fear of rejection, had earned her the ill will of the station’s less patient residents, it had also acquainted her with a few friendly faces. She had hardly set off for the lower level of the station before she heard her name called out over the din of people milling about. She’d met far too many people to quite place the voice before she glanced over her shoulder, but the Albahrian face was a familiar one.

She didn’t smile—couldn't smile; variable expression was a sophistication reserved for Versions purpose-built for alien contact, and Thirty-Six was certainly not among them—but her warmth towards the Albahrian, in defiance of her immutably stern face, betrayed itself in the kindly tone of her voice. “Good day, Taveh,” she said; hers was a pleasant drawl of a voice, not quite male or female, issuing from a speaker built into a motionless facsimile of lips.

“I hear today is the day,” he said, falling into step with her.

“So it is. I’m afraid I’ve squandered my last opportunity to get to know the station better.”

“After the past couple of weeks, I think the station appreciates that,” Taveh teased, and Thirty-Six allowed a fleeting peal of laughter. Then a note of mock-injury crept into the Albahrian’s voice, and he added, “You never did finish that story you were telling me the other day, by the way.”

Albahrians do love their stories, after all. “Which one?”

“I believe it was about the time you caused a diplomatic crisis on Zegar because they couldn’t figure out if you counted as female.”

“Oh, right.” A twinge of amusement had polluted the synthetic cleanliness of Thirty-Six’s voice; it was evidently a fond memory. “Well, long story short, they decided I did, and that brought my brief Zegarian holiday to an abrupt end.” Taveh opened his mouth to offer some rejoinder—no doubt the slipshod way she’d concluded her chronicle had offended his storytelling sensibilities—but by then they had arrived at the express elevator, and Thirty-six paused, turned to the Albahrian. “I’m afraid this is where we part ways, my friend,” she said contritely. “They don’t allow uninvolved personnel down there. Thank you for showing me around the station and putting up with my questions.”

Taveh bowed, tentacles flexing proudly. “Of course. If you should find yourself in these parts again, do feel free to call on me." She nodded, and he began to turn away. "I think I’ll head back to Central, then. Here’s hoping that damn Nyeusian’s gone…”


“Oh, nothing, nothing.” He flashed her a grin and said, “So long, Thirty-Six.” They parted, and she turned to step into the elevator.

It was perhaps for the best that the crew hadn’t been permitted in the lowest level until now; the moment Thirty-Six emerged into the Majestic’s home segment, she knew she’d have driven the entire construction team to distraction. The endless motion of mechanics darting this way and that, the all-encompassing chorus of voices from alien mouths, the urgency and the innovation of it all left a thrilled anticipation coursing through Thirty-Six’s processors.

The indefatigable Engineer Spreckle appeared in short order, beaming and offering a tour of the ship; moments later, he was scampering to keep up as Thirty-Six strode through the halls of the vessel, pointing this way and that and asking questions all the while. More than once, she asked about the ship’s armaments—“I’d like to make sure this ship is properly outfitted for the dangers it will be encountering”—but by and large, she just wanted to know everything Spreckle knew about the ship, and a few things he didn’t, too. By the time she thanked him for his knowledge and asked him to point her to the bridge, the engineer clearly regretted every career choice that had led him to this ordeal.

Two of her colleagues had already arrived by then—she knew as much about them as she could find out during the shuttle flight to the Majestic, knew the Kayatolian (who was an odd pearly white—she was definitely going to ask about that) was Tatloani Samaru and the Nyeusian was Nyx Lufane. Heedless of the quiet the two had apparently shared thus far—and apparently uninterested in coming up with grand words to mark the occasion—she said in a quietly warm voice, “Thirty-Six, head of security, reporting for duty.”
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In every word, every sentence, and every page.

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Re: Majestic [IC]

Post by Palacia » Fri Jan 12, 2018 2:40 pm

Smoke curled off a glistening ivory pipe. With each draw the ornate scroll-work softly glowed a quaint purple trailing after the smoke as it drew through stem and into the downward curved bit. It was, by far, the most exquisite pipe to be seen smoking in the smoke-hazed dimly lit bar. The dim orange lighting highly the smoke dancing and playing in the air, each exhale and slow-burning bowl lent to the skyward dancing. It was quiet, almost too quiet for Kirble’s liking. Back home, places like this, never once a moment of silence, sure my kind are perceptive, and highly intuitive, hence the galaxy wide fame, but in bars we’re a rowdy bunch. Gotta, you know, have some way to cope with all the stress of rich quibbling families worried sick after their precious runaways.

The sound of tooth chewing on ivory signaled a slight pause in his thought-flow, the pipe slowly lit up again as Kirble drew breath.

“ You talkin’ to me froggy?” Came a throaty voice.

Kirble held his breath, only after a few more seconds, slowly releasing the withheld smoke, “ Bandangian, my friend, how could I not be speaking to you!” Truth be told, Kirble was on his fifth or.. what .. maybe eighth bowl of the Grenwurm leaf and it hadn’t occurred to him that is inner monologue may not have been so internal. The slightest of facial flickers told a fairly tall tale of just how much Kirble regretted his quick tongue.

The large Bandangian gave a huff of sorts, “ If you wanna prattle on like that,” He jutted a hand towards a Albahrian sitting at the bar who seemed quite busy with his wriggling drink,” go prattle to one who might give a damn. And leave me to drink in my well deserved peace!” The creature snorted or growled, Kirble wasn’t certain, and then leaned back into his chair raising an exotic looking drink to his or her toothy mouth, Kirble wasn’t positive on that one either.

He drew in another lungful of hi Grenwurm and held it for a good long second before slowly letting it out. “ Oh, go dip yourself in a Wurm dumping,” he muttered under his breath before pulling his fedora down over his eyes and resting backwards, puffing on his pipe.
“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY FROGGY!” The growl/shout startled Kirble out of his dozing high. Gruff hands grabbed his collar hoisted him up to lock eyes with a very big, and very angry looking Bandangian. “ My what big ears you have?” Kirble’s voice trailing off.

Nostrils flared, a roar, and a few moments later Kirble could be seen flying out of the bar and into the opposing hallway wall, he landing with a fleshy thud and a loud cracking noise. One would sparsely be able hear him lament about his surely broken pipe. This hadn’t been the first time poor timing made his quick-tongued nature set him onto a ill fate. Although to be fair it'd gotten him out of far more situations than he could count. Just. During times like this, everything hurt.

buzz buzz buzz

Maintaining his crumbled form, Kirble reached into a rather hidden pocket within his trench-coat and pulled out his communicator. A red lettered message flashed across the screen for a moment.

“ Right, the ship, the hell did they call it again, Majesty, Royalty, no wait… the Majestic,”

Kirble rose up, pushing off his thighs, re-positioned his fedora and headed for the the ship, still deep in the Grenwurm high. He moved quietly as he could given his form fit rubber shoes and the floor material. He’d already memorized several of the pathways from both the bar and his quarters to the ship. “Always know your way around” was Kirble’s motto in life, it seemed applicable to almost everything so far.

He past several viewing portals overlooking the ships construction. The super-station’s ability to manufacture such machine beasts in such incredible time was quite a spectacle. He made a quick glance to find no one in his proximity, he then pulled out his communicator and snapped a picture of the factory bay below. He continued his trek downwards eventually arriving at the boarding portal and took his first steps into his new home.

Upon taking not one, but two steps a Alsadan appeared introducing himself as engineer Spreckle. Offering a tour and details on varying specs of the ships navigation and propulsion systems. All of which Kirble enthusiastically ate up, making several comments on the propulsion system and hooking in modifications and rigging's to sap every last bit of energy from the engines, as well as the ships maneuverability. Kirble made sure to re-emphasize the importance of it.

With one brief tip of his hat Kirble left the engineer to return to his important work and made his way to the bridge of the ship. Right before entering through the last portal he lit up a similar pipe to his previous pipe, well at least in design. As he always carried a spare in one of his many pockets.

He entered the bridge, his pipe glowing a neat orange, “ The name’s Kirble, the most average pilot you’ll find.” Made a extravagant show of his hat, a bow, and he moved to his designated chair. Well at least the one that looked like his..
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Re: Majestic [IC]

Post by Joule » Fri Jan 12, 2018 7:28 pm

A camera orb buzzed around his head, as if mirroring his own excitement. Nat had to try very hard, to convince himself to hang back a while, observe his surroundings, see what everyone was up to, before finally making his way to the Majestic. He placed a hand on the camera orb, patting it slightly to calm it down. Looking around, it was hard to believe that this ship was supposed to be ready that very day. He walked through the construction site with purpose, taking note of every detail —this was familiar ground for him, after all designing spaceship interiors was what he did for a living. With a swift motion he pulled out his tablet and pen, and began sketching up ideas, or jotting down last minute notes. He'd of course reviewed the plans of the ship, he had gotten any information he possibly could about the design, budget, everything related to its construction, but seeing it in person always offered a different perspective.

He kept any eye out for the other Officers which were supposed to be arriving any moment, and found himself looking forward to a reunion with a certain doctor. Shaking his head, he tried to push the thought from his mind and focus. Everyone was gathering up on the bridge, and he wanted a chance to speak to them all together. After all, as a wise man had once said, you never get a second change to make a first impression.

So when the rest of his fellow crew members had arrived, he joined them on the bridge with a smile and a wave. After the initial greetings and pleasantries, when things seemed to somewhat calm down, he made sure to stand on a spot where he was visible to everyone, and cleared his throat.

"Hello everybody, and welcome aboard— well, about 30% of the Majestic, at this point," he chuckled. "I know you all have things you want to say, things you want to do, I'm sure the last thing you want is listen to me babble, but I was hoping you would indulge me. First of all, as I've said, I am Nathaniel Prescott Bernoulli; maybe you've heard of me, maybe you haven't, but either way, today I am among you as Nat, the Publicity Officer, not the TV persona. And I am overjoyed to meet you all, and to be standing here beside you." There was a broad, bright smile on his face, excitement visible in his eyes. "I was told to expect to work with the finest the galaxy had to offer, and while I'm not one to judge by appearances alone, from what I see, I do have a feeling they were right."

"Now, as your Publicity Officer, I am supposed to record the work we do here, to send a positive image to the public, but I think for this first meeting here, where we're all getting our bearings, my camera orb can stay off," he waved at the little orb floating around him, which gave an adorable little beep, and the little red light that had been flashing at the top of it switched off. He also switched off the holo-display in front of his eye, to show everyone that he was giving them his full attention. "You see... I am not known for getting camera shy, but there's a couple of things I wanted to say which are rather... personal. Two lessons I want to share with you, two lessons I learned when I was a child."

His tone was casual, yet it carried a weight to it. His speech was smooth, yet it did not sound rehearsed —it sounded as if he spoke from the heart. A soft chuckle escaped him, drawn out from a distant memory; a bittersweet chuckle.

"You ever heard of ZN-505 prosthetics? They're all but discontinued now, but two decades ago they were the standard issue for people with no... better options. They're clunky, don't even feature nerve endings and a sense of touch, and the chronic pain involved with them... well, let's not even get into that. But I was a stubborn kid. I picked up a pen, and I didn't let go. Months and months of people telling me to give it up, months of fighting just to be able to draw a straight line, years of watching other kids grow, so much faster than me, go so much farther, while I was stuck, limited by something I could not control."

Nat paused for a moment, hands shaking slightly. He turned his head away, quickly wiping back a few tears, before returning his gaze to everyone else. His eyes were red, but there was a confident smile on his face.

"When someone tells me I can'd do something, I have an innate need to prove them wrong. And I did. When everyone else was out playing, I was working, and that work paid off. An agency discovered me, saw my potential, and took me under their wing. I was outfitted with the best prosthetics the market had to offer, I was given an education I could've only dreamed of."

Nat held his hand out in front of him, closing his fingers and then opening them up again, showing the flexibility of his mechanical digits. "An SFD-88 and two IRI-00 later, here I am, ready to take on whatever life throws against us." He let his hand drop and smiled apologetically at everyone. "This is getting a bit long, isn't it? I didn't mean to bore you with my life story —there was in fact a point to it all. The world out there, it says we'll never make this work, that this is a waste of time, that achieving peace is but an impossible dream. I say, lesson number one, fuck 'em. They're not going to tell us what we can't and can't do. Let's prove them all wrong."

For a moment he paused, glancing around the room, trying to see if anyone had been offended at his chosen language —he hoped not.

"Then there's pesky little lesson number two though. At the end of the day, it's people who will help you get through this thing we call life. It was people who had discovered me, people who helped lift me up, people who believed in me and helped me achieve my dreams. So... don't fuck 'em?" he chuckled. "There's a fine balance there. Either we like it or not, we need people to like us, we need people to believe in what we do here. No matter how advanced our ship might be, no matter how fast, or stealthy, no matter how big our guns get, none of that matters if we can't get the world on our side. We are only one tiny ship, in a very large galaxy, just a smaller part of a much larger system. And if you're more the practical sort, this means that the greater our image is, the larger our budget —we get more resources to make our ship better, stronger, faster. Think of it as an investment."

All it took was a thought, and his holo-display implant was activated once again, small projections dancing in front of his right eye. With a pinch of his fingers, he grabbed the holo-screen, dragged it further away, and made it larger, for everyone to see.

"On a different, yet somewhat related note, I have gone over the available space, our budget, and other variables, and have drawn up several suggestions about the interior of the Majestic. Would you like to go over them now? Also, would it be alright with you if I turned my camera orb back on, or would you be more comfortable if I kept it off for now? Our image is important, yes, but there is nothing more important to me here now than making sure that the crew of this ship is happy."

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Re: Majestic [IC]

Post by Aurelia Courville » Wed Jan 17, 2018 4:51 am

A week before the Majestic was fit to be boarded, she saw it in a dream. Though it had not been a visual of the exact thing, she knew it for the blessing it was, she had felt it. She saw a light so pure, shining off the peak of the Azerian mountains to the east of her. A feeling of acceptance and love and…
She woke with a start. The rare chill sent shivers down her spine and she felt the bitter taste of Pe’tre on her tongue. The Kolozite had been meditating, not dreaming. Lernaia had been at the Super Station for three days. She’d spent the first thirty-two hours fighting with the Parameshi female secretary.

“Are ya’ havin’ trouble readin’ it hun? I know sometimes translating gets a little mixed up--”
“Of course I know what the letter says.”
“Because this says you have access startin’ on the twenty-fourth,”
“Yes I know, but--”
“And today is not the twenty-fourth.”
“Yes. I am fully awa--”
“And I’m pretty bond by a set of rules. Laws, if you will. That dictate unto me what I am allowed and disallowed to do at work. These numbers may not mean much to you people, but I take this seriously.” The small bureaucrat blinked its inner eyelid and tilted her head to the left. “Now how can I help you?”

It had taken everything in her to not attempt to slap some sense into the poor mindless fish. Eventually she’d gained access to the ship before the official day to move in. She had every right to be here before the ship was finished. As technical officer, it kind of just made sense to her, and when she laid eyes on the half connected power grid panel, she felt validated.

There was a spark sound bringing her, for the second time out of her trance-like memory filled meditation bringing her back to the present. “Watch out for the red wire, Spreckle.” She sent over the intercom. The tiny Alsadan kept insisting he knew what he was doing, but the angry yellow sparks that kept flying towards his impossibly large eyes screamed otherwise.

The strange alien scoffed, punctuated by the lift of his shoulders, his back towards her still. “Lady, I know what I’m doing, okay?” Another angry flash made him jump back with a shout. Lernaia hid her smile behind her hand as she continued to scroll through the ships specs on her float pad.

“I just don’t think this circuitry is going to cut it, not if you keep burning my wires together like that.” She’d managed to keep the smile out of her voice this time to let him know she was serious. He looked back at her and, she assumed, smirked back his response.

She could tell he wanted to say something she’d consider rude, but he looked distracted. Instead of a retort to her undermining his skills as a fellow engineer, he mentioned the others. “Your captain just arrived, you might want to head to the bridge. I’ll go make introductions.” at Lernaia’s pleading eyes, he amended his last words, “And I’ll make sure the circuitry is top-notch before you guys set of.”

She knew it wouldn’t be up to him, but his empty promise still made her feel a tiny bit better. As she left the engineering bay, she continued to swipe through the specs in front of her, stopping at seemingly a random few--enlarging here and there. By the time she’d made it to the bridge it was filled with quite a few people. She hadn’t noticed how much longer it had taken her to get there, so deep in thought was she with the mission in front of her.

She took one of the few seats left and almost as soon as she did, the board in front of her lit up in front of her. She let out a pleased sigh and waved her hands over it. Somewhere in the middle of her fawning over the controls, a giant blue and pink man started speaking...and kept speaking...about, something? She wasn’t completely oblivious to the worlds out past Koloz. They had access to interplanetary shows. She had just prefered learning about how they had access to these shows and learning about the Faith. Her ‘image’ was one created by their God. Her mission was one of peace. What was there to sell?
If you hear your self conscience, you will stay in Wonderland, and I will show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.

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Re: Majestic [IC]

Post by Kookaburra » Wed Jan 17, 2018 9:17 am

A robot, a turtle, a blueman, a wetman, an electric pole, a greenman, an emo kid… This'll look good on my resume, he thought, scrolling through the profiles of the Majestic crew as he created medical templates for them in his digital notebook. These races all took much more care than his own kind, but then again, our cat punks were asshats who weren't good at showing up to planned meetings. Snarky, too. Good immune systems make cocky Esikites believe they didn’t need savin’ even if they were draggin’ themselves by the tail.

Speak of the devil, Artemis made a face as he mused, I don't wanna leave my nice, cozy office either. I wasn't joking when I told that blueman this felt like a Ma-testicle ball ache of a space venture… My balls are going to go as blue as him out there!

Just as he was about to keep grumbling, his little niece bursted through the office doors, screaming as she flailed in circles in front of his office chair, jumping up and down at a height that looked like she was going to burst through the roof. His eyelids drooped low, wondering how his sister gave birth to something as un-apathetic about life as this vivacious she-cat.

“Uncle Connie, OMIGOSH! Stop grumbling and talk to me, you're going to age yourself too fast and then you'll be old and then you won't be able to talk to me about the-single-most-handsome-creature-in-this-galaxy-and-omigosh-he-came-here-did-you-say-”

“HUSHA-HUSHA-HUSHA!” He demanded, raising a paw. The room fell quiet save for the noise of his niece Portia’s tail whipping against the carpet floor in anticipation. “…First of all, I'm not going to age - being grumpy is in our nature, I'm fulfilling my instinctual needs. Secondly, that'll be 50 Magma Melts for even stepping in here. Gotta keep your precious man’s air untarnished, y’know?”

The girl’s silver fur suddenly spiked. “Ew, uncleeeee, you farted! That's so gross and how dare you-"

Artemis’ lips curled into his smug ‘3’ shaped cat-smile. His niece, defeated by his ugly face, plopped into the patient’s chair and watched Esik burn from the window. Artemis fluffed up the fur on either side of his face as he talked. “Kiddo, guess what, because of your amazing fairy uncle who makes miracles for little girls come true, by these exact words Mr. B said, I kid you not, you kid: As for your niece,” Artemis straightened his back, made a monocle sign with his claws and placed them over one eye, “she sounds like a wise young woman, delightful really.”

Portia’s eyes shined, dancing with reflections from the moon as she leaped onto the table and grabbed her uncle by the shoulders, shaking him about. “Nathaniel Prescott Bernoulli really SAID THAT?! ABOUT ME?!

Rocking about in his chair, Artemis looked at his sister’s spawn, trying his best to appreciate her joy with a forced laugh that went ha-haaaa like a crow’s caw, “I promise. And you know that despite being an Esikite, we don't break promises.”

Portia tried her best not to squeal, but squeaked excitedly anyway. Artemis tried his best not to curse, but told her to piss off anyway. Portia leaped into his lap and hugged him. The man groaned. “You promise to try and video call him with me when you get the chance? When you're not doing all that ship stuff? I can leave maths class.”

“Don't ditch school. When I'm not doing all that shit stuff,” Artemis corrected, “I’ll see what I can do.”


The Esikite waddled through the bridge, being one of the last people to board. “Ello, ello, fellows,” he greeted to the crew with moon-shaped eye smiles - as taught by Portia, hopefully it looked friendly enough. Portia said his approach wasn't always the most inviting. Before placing his dark brown trench coat over the empty chair, he began kneading the chair’s plush part, prepping it for optimal sitting as Nat waffled on about his prosthetics. When enough bits of thread had popped out of the seat, Artemis leaped into the chair, swivelling it side to side. It was pretty nice that they spun round like that. You wouldn't have to keep turning your head to watch people when they played yarn tennis or something.

As Nat concluded his talk, Artemis gave a slow clap. “Very nice, Mr. B. We've got some good sorts in this ship indeed. I think we'd better get to know what we're all about first before projecting it to the galaxy.” Taking a package out of his coat, he slipped out of his chair, walked around the desk, and placed a Magma Melts onto everyone's table. It wasn't 50 of them, but Portia was a girl sweet enough to put up with his teasing, so he let it slide.

“I'm Dr. Artemis Constantine,” he said to the group as he walked with attentively drooped ears, “Here for medical duty. Don't hesitate to let me know if you feel even a little a bit crook, battered or worn for wear, hm? ‘Snot my fault if ya don't tell me. I don't bite, I promise, I'm just a snarky asshat.”

And with that, he scratched the back of his ear, kneaded his chair just one more time to check it out, and plopped himself into the seat comfortably.

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Post by wadjet » Sat Jan 20, 2018 3:04 pm

“The organism displays an interesting reaction to mild electric stimuli.”


“Instead of trying to get away from the source, it instead draws near.”


“It almost seems like it’s curious about the sensation. Fascinating.”


“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” the Kijivun muttered, putting down her instruments and retracting her finger’s back so her fins appeared smooth again. She pressed the button then, allowing the message to come through.

“Pethephine Shayde’Nirro, your presence is requested on the bridge of the Majestic.”

“I’m in the middle of something,” she growled back at the thing.

The tone didn’t change overtly, but there was a definite threatening vibe as it replied, “Immediately if you do not want to be kicked off the mission.”

Pethephine, or Phine for short, growled, angrily shutting it off.

“Ghine, I’ve got to go. You can find my notes next to the specimen’s container!” The other Kijivun she was talking to twitched his frills in acknowledgment.


She lumbered surprisingly quickly down to the ship, pushing past the engineer that was probably waiting for her and made her way to the bridge. “I’m late, I know, deal with it,” she grumbled to the gathered officers. She went to her station, standing at it and studying it.

“Well. What now?”

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