Redemption (Rated T) - A Pirate/Fleet RP

[Rider]

[glow=red,2,300]And so it came to pass that the six guilds of the NTWF warred, and through warring, set free an army that had been trapped in a gem for a thousand years.

It has been a month and a day since the phoenix Sev broke the Gem to free them. It has been precisely a month since the demon Leraye, who had trapped them in a Gem to be used as his own personal power supply, forged a black gem from the soul of the supernatural entity known colloquially as "TMC". Myths and legends have been told among the elders of this world of a biker who can bend space and time to his will. The Spacefleet Guild is currently in possession of his bike, which seems to have similar powers.

The Spacefleet Guild has a base on one of the NTWF's twin moons. They have been the silent guardians of the planet for some time, only discovered when the Fleeter known as Fraze crashed his dropship in a forest. The Spacefleet's mad Commander tried to make war on the in habitants of the NTWF, but mysteriously disappeared when the Gem was destroyed. Now the Spacefleet, through their ambassador Fraze, has made trade agreements with the Mage Guild.

Long before the events of the Guilds War took place, the pirate known as Cyborg mutinied against Captain Huntress of the White Weewoo. He was banished and then became part of the Mercenary Guild. He was acting commander of the Mercanaries during the Guilds War, and led them on a number of foolish missions which now make him an outcast and a war criminal. The Pirates, with whom he now desires to make amends, are currently holding him prisoner.

His trial begins at dawn.[/glow]

[Huntress]

Granted, Hunty wasn't entirely sure whose bright idea it had been to start the trial at dawn.

Of course, she had to admit that it went with the traditions. Everything that's ever important starts at dawn, and pirates are all for traditions. Hunty, however, was also all for doing important things after a good night's sleep. And she wasn't a morning person.

She stumbled out of her cabin, squinting at the rising sun. The Weewoo was docked in a bay near Tabloid Town. In the light of recent events, Hunty wasn't fond of going near any coast unless it involved pillaging, and they couldn't very well pillage Tabloid Town unless they wanted trouble with the entire population of the NTWF, the crew itself included. But then again, not like the seas were any safer for them at that point. Besides, Tabloid Town had, as it turned out, a spaceport and therefore that's where her officers had gone in order to have negotiations with the Spacefleet. Hunty wasn't actually sure what they were about, she'd just sent them off with "make sure you don't tick them off enough to have them come kablooie our ship, don't sign any contracts before actually reading them, and don't do anything... stupid."

"Morning, sunshine," Bloody Mary said, wandering closer on the railing.

"Shut it."

"Wasn't talking to you." The dark blue meepit, aware that there's only this much force you can apply to Hunty's sense of humor, changed his tone. "Something on your mind?"

"Worried," Hunty said earnestly. That, the meepit had to admit, was nothing new. The captain had perpetually been a little iffy ever since the end of the war. She now knew for a fact that there are people out there who'd be able to blow her ship up without a blink, with or without the protective magical shield of mist. Besides, the mist had, ever since they'd had the ship's rigging fixed, retracted to the depths of the small brigantine for some odd reason. It was there, in the deepest hold right above the keel and ballast, but it wouldn't come out even at captain's orders. The ship still looked like a genuine white brigantine, and Hunty suspected that it preferred to stay that way when it wasn't in dire need of protection. It was, after all, a pirate ship.

Protection was why Hunty had breached her otherwise rather strict no-alliances policy in the first place. Pirates are meant to be free. Negotiate with people and before you know it, you're dubbed a privateer and on a leash dancing to someone else's tune, or tied in a bunch of messy contracts that forbid the dancing overall, lest you get blown up. But if they had to share the planet - and the vicinity - with a bunch of shiny powerful moonpeople, then it was better to be on their good side.

Besides, they were stuck in a messy contract anyway, she reminded herself with a sigh. They had to track down Leraye, that backstabbity excuse of a demon. That was their only way of redeeming themselves in the eyes of the ancient army they'd backstabbed and now had to share the seas with.

Not that they should've done that in the first place, but whatchagonnado.

"How's Cyborg?"

"Probably the same as yesterday and the day before that," Bloody Mary said.

"Might as well get started," Hunty said. "We got a long day ahead. With any luck those chitchatters will come back today and we can get back to tracking down that thrice-cursed demon, so I'd like to get this out of the way. Get someone to bring 'im up here."

"You know, for all the democracy on this ship, you could do these things yourself for a change."

"You're an anarchist, not a democrat."

Bloody Mary, standing corrected, muttered something incoherent, trotting off to find someone who'd be willing to play a bailiff at that hour of the morning.

[Zylaa]

Zylaa was not a morning person either. However, she had very little choice in the matter today. The weasels had woken her up when the sky had barely lightened. A few hundred tiny pokes was not her alarm of choice.

On the plus side, she was back aboard the Weewoo. That had been an adventure, of sorts. As the pirates flew to war, the weasels, displaying an unusual level of survival instinct, had fled the ship. Out of kindness, or at least knowledge that Zylaa provided shiny things, the weasels had taken her with them. Zylaa had been asleep at the time, and had woken up on an unidentified tropical island surrounded by native islanders, who demanded to know why the weasels had stolen their jewelry.

Fortunately, the natives had captured all three-hundred weasels and were more than happy to loan her a boat, provided that she promised to never bring the weasels back. And so she had returned, days later, having completely missed the rest of the war.

Her crewmembers had shown deep sympathy for her plight, in the form of laughing themselves sick.

The weasels were currently grounded from all things shiny. Naturally, this made them impatient, irritable, and inclined to torment Zylaa at every opportunity. Hence the poking for the wake-up call.

Zylaa trudged up from her bunk onto deck with a yawn, and noticed Huntress already awake.

"Cap'n, may I suggest we find whoever is responsible for the rising-at-dawn tradition and keelhaul them?" she asked.

[Goosh]

Dawn was a lousy time for traditions anyway. Why not have duels, trials and assorted miscellany in the late afternoon, when everyone was awake?

Grumbling from lack of sleep, the Yurble blearily trudged up onto the deck. He nodded at Zylaa--somewhat annoyed by the fact that she could not see him behind her but too lazy to actually do anything about it.

The war had come and gone, a massive event with betrayal and angst and the occasional musical number. The Weewoo, thankfully, had returned to her normal state as a white brigantine. The floaty couch man, Leraye, had apparently escaped, and there might have been an explosion or two.

Goosh had, fortunately, been on vacation for most of the turmoil.

It seemed Cyborg had gotten himself into even more trouble, however the dung that was possible. Hence the consciousness at dawn and his subsequent foul mood. It occured to the furry pirate that forcing a jury to arise in the grey hours of the morning was probably a tactical advantage on the accuser's side.

Trying to curb his tired rambling and marshal his thoughts into something resembling order, he greeted his captain with a grunt. "Morning."

[Omni]

"Initiating… now! …No change to readings."

A sigh was heard, it came from a female. She was half-human, her face slightly elongated, her feet digitigrade, she also had one less finger than a normal human on each hand. "Still no effect. How many times have we tried?"

"Eighty-four." This voice was slightly high-pitched, and almost squeaky in a way, yet still masculine. The speaker was a large, rodent bi-ped, with large eyes. "May I suggest we try a different method?"

A human male, the one who initiated the test, was the next to speak. "I still think that if someone got on that bike-"

"You know we can't do that," the female said. "The rider wasn't your average humanoid. And for all we know it may have been tuned to him.

"Yes," the rodent spoke again. "There are many potential risks that may arise if an average being attempts to utilize its power."

"I know, I know. More energy than one can withstand, rejection with force… But if we could just protect the rider somehow…"

There was a moment of silence.

"There is a special operative with rather effective, sentient armor, which has a large capacity for energy reserves, is there not?" the rodent asked.

"I think so," the female replied. "It wouldn't cover all the risks, but it just wight reduce the risks enough."

"Great, who wants to go ask if we can use it?"

The human found himself stared at.

"…Fine, I'll go."

((Spacefleet needs more alien NPCs. Feel free to suggest names.))

[Jina]

Ugh.

Jina liked mornings. Actually, she liked just about all times of the day.

But waking up after a night of perhaps too much rum tends to change things.

Oh well. As far as she could tell, the sun had only just risen. She could just go back to- wait. What day was it again?

The robed girl shot upright in her bed, causing her headache to worsen. Still, considering the day's events in front, that was worth ignoring.

"Morning all! Who's pumped for the execu- I mean, trial?"

[Rider]

[glow=red,2,300]It may as well be an execution, Rider thought. The only thing keeping the traitor from being nailed to the mainmast four weeks ago was inter-guild relations. Namely, the already-shattered relations with the mercs and knights. Mercs by the fact that Cy was once their leader, and the knights because relations were always bad with the knights, and they have an annoying habit of making everything thier buisness anyway. Everything but the last Guilds War, anyway.

Rider yawned and paced the deck. She was wearing a crisp, clean blouse and a pair of pyjama pants. Ventratta was curled up on an empty barrel, sleeping. It must be easier to be a petpet, Rider thought. Thay don't seem to have a care in the world.

Shiva was back at Castle Kestrel. He had to be there for Sora, Rider understood, but he was missing out on a good meal. Rider's only means of contacting him in a hurry was... Sev. Sev would not approve.

The pirates were assembling. Rider took this as her cue. She made herself look alert and went to retrieve Cyborg from the brig.

As was typical of her relationship with the merc, she taunted him first.

"Hey Cyborg, sick of this place yet? Today you'll be leaving... one way or another." She motioned for Cyborg to follow her.[/glow]

[Kat]

"Cap'n, may I suggest we find whoever is responsible for the rising-at-dawn tradition and keelhaul them?"

Beside Zylaa, a cloud of purple smoke erupted. When it cleared, a yawning mage clad in purple robes and clutching a staff appeared on the deck. The staff retracted into a little black wand topped with a gold star, and she shoved it into her sash.

"Not a bad idea. If you don't mind, Cap'n, I would like to do the keelhaulin'," grumbled Kat. Today, she was not Kalianne Triss Lunara, Purple Knight. Neither was she just another mage running about Mage Manor.

Today, on the day of the trial, she was Kat, first mate - at least, she was, the last time she checked. And that meant duties. Important ones, obviously.

[Ikkin]

Ikkin glided slowly over Tabloid Town, trying to calm her nerves. She'd been chosen to go to Spacefleet for the purpose of negotiating peaceful relations between the two; Cap'n Hunty had made it very clear that she did not want to face the moonpeople again. This, of course, was rather awkward for a few reasons, not the least of which was the fact that she'd nearly killed the Commander in battle in the last Guild War (and probably would have, if that Gem hadn't kept him alive).

She wondered momentarily why she had been chosen again. Sure, she had Sev, but Tabloid Town had a spaceport, and surely there was someone who had better relations with Spacefleet than she did to send.

"You know, if you keep waiting around, you'll just have more time to worry about it," Sev said, rather impatient. The kitsune had been doing the aerial equivalent of pacing back and forth for nearly fifteen minutes now, and he really just wanted to get going. "You ready yet?"

Ikkin hovered in one place and looked down. "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess." She thought to herself about how odd it was that she could throw herself into battle so easily, yet still be so worried about what amounted to the formalization of agreements that already existed.

Sev wasn't about to wait for her any more, though. He flew towards her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and disappeared in a flash before she knew what had happened.

"Hey!" Ikkin called out as the phoenix's claws dug into her shoulder. "What was that all about?"

"You said you were ready," Sev said smugly, dropping Ikkin. "I just figured we'd get here quicker that way."

"Where is here, anyway?" Ikkin asked, looking around the metallic room, her eyes focusing on two aliens and a very strange bike, which she seemed to have somehow fallen through without feeling anything when Sev dropped her. "This isn't where we're supposed to go..."

"No, it isn't," Sev said, clearly upset with the fact that his teleportation had gone wrong. That was something that had never happened to him before, and he felt the energies in the room to try to find an explanation. Maybe Spacefleet had some kind of anti-teleportation field?

No, that clearly wasn't the case. The room itself and the surrounding area felt normal; the only thing that was odd was the bike that Ikkin had almost landed on, and that was more of a lack of any kind of presence than an energy signature. "Ikkin, I think you should move," Sev said.

"You feel it too?" she asked, having already picked up on the bike's oddness herself and moved rather quickly away from it. "What is it?"

"Trouble, Sev said. "Let's just go and find our contact, for now."

Ikkin agreed. She'd much rather get away from that bike; it made her feel highly uncomfortable. "Sounds good to me," she said, standing up. She then turned to one of the aliens, the one who looked a bit like a giant rodent. "Hey, do you know where the main deck is? We were supposed to meet Fraze for negotiations on the part of the pirates, but we seem to have gotten a bit misplaced."

[Omni]

The female looked at the kitsune that appeared out of nowhere. "Spec Ops Fraze? We just sent Brian after him…"

Meanwhile, the rodent picked up a small devise. "Main deck," he said. A small holographic map appeared, he handed the device to Ikkin. "Directions may not be helpful to one who is not familiar with the base. This will guide you to the main deck based on your location, step by step."

"And if you see a man who's name tag reads 'Brian Terson,' could you bring him with you?"

[Fraze]

Fraze soared through space on a pair of what looked like dragonfly wings.
He had spent the last few days reporting back to his old HQ, the organization that had stationed him here with Spacefleet. Though "exiled" might have been a better word, he reflected that this exile was the happiest time of his life.
A shuttle had come to pick him up three days earlier. It traveled at c-plus velocity to the planet he had been stationed out of, where he spent the next day and a half shaking hands and saluting and saying yes sir and no sir and generally despising the universe and everyone in it.
At the end of it all, he was put back on the shuttle and sent back to his "station"--Spacefleet HQ, moon orbiting the planet NTWF. It took half a day each way, and by the time he passed the orbit of the outermost planet of the system, he was ready to get off. From his bag, he pulled out a small vial filled with what looked like mercury. He undressed, opened the vial, and poured the contents on his hand. It spread to envelop his hand, creeping up his arm, covering the rest of his body in a matter of seconds. At the end of the process, he was covered in a familiar-looking silver membrane. He dressed again.
He made sure all of his things were in his small backpack. Seeing that they were, he stepped into the airlock and ordered the shuttle to open it. The shuttle protested, but he overrode it. Grudgingly, the shuttle obeyed. The air was removed from the small section of the shuttle, and the airlock opened soundlessly. Fraze jumped off. The shuttle turned around and returned to its own base.

So glad that was over! Lights and icons flashed in his vision: distance to the NTWF, velocity relative to the planet, bearing, time to reach destination, and so forth. With a thought, two wings grew from between his shoulder blades. These wings were only microns thick and made of fixed energy, having no actual mass. They spread to a size of ten meters across each. Already traveling at a significant fraction of the speed of light, Fraze began picking up speed. It would take two hours to get to Spacefleet at this rate. He could wait. He ordered the wings to collapse again, turned off all of his skinsuit feeds, and waited.
It was quiet, so quiet that he could hear his own circulatory system. The stars blazed all around him, a multitude of suns. The light of each star seemed like a tiny gift meant just for him, a small fraction of light that could never be known to anyone else. He had traveled like this many times before, sometimes for days or even weeks on end, but he could always enjoy the beauty of it.
He began to grow sleepy. He told his skinsuit to set an alarm to wake him up when he needed to slow down, and drifted off.

Sound exploded in Fraze's ears, and he startled awake in a panic. His skinsuit, registering increased brain function and heightened adrenaline levels, shut off the alarm. He unfurled the suit's wings once more. He could barely see the NTWF in the distance, but knew he would arrive soon at this speed. Too soon. If he crashed into the moon at this speed, there would be nothing left of him, protective suit or no. The wings unfurled once more, now twenty meters across. They were reflective on the side facing the planet, to slow him down, and they were absorptive on the side facing away, to help replenish their energy reserves. He was more or less facing the sun, which slowed him down quite quickly. He felt the tug of deceleration like the tug of a strong gravitational field.
It took fifteen minutes to decelerate to a safe speed. By now, he was almost at the moon. It loomed large in his vision. He orbited around it until he saw the station...there. Plotting a reentry course, he used the wings to rotate him until he had the proper trajectory.
Something nagged at his brain. Was there something he had to do? Someone he had to meet...
Even though he had no medium to yell into, Fraze somehow yelled a stream of words that would have made several different alien races highly offended. He was supposed to meet that Mage ambassador today! He had to be there soon.
Flames flickered in his vision as the suit heated up in reentry. The suit registered this heat as a source of energy, and used a portion of it to replenish its own reserves. He had to be fast. Need to alter trajectory slightly...
He was blazing across the sky now, a human meteor. Sensors were screaming at him to decelerate. At the last possible instant, he spread his suit's wings wide, fifty meters across each, and held them above him like a parachute. He felt jerked upward with the violent deceleration. He decreased the wings' size once he had slowed, allowing for a more reasonable descent speed.
A voice buzzed in his ear. "Unidentified...person..." the voice said, obviously confused as to why it wasn't speaking to a ship. "Please identify yourself."
"This is Spec Ops Fraze, returning from a mission," he thought. His suit translated his thoughts into a radio transmission and sent it off. "Request permission to land." With that, he sent off his proof of identification.
There was a pause. If there are truly different kinds of pauses, this seemed to be a baffled one. "Permission granted. Head to landing bay twelve."

Fraze touched down perfectly on landing bay twelve. He walked into the airlock, which was filled with air for him, before entering the main Spacefleet structure. He showed his identification to the guards and walked calmly past them.
When he got to the plaza, he broke into a dead sprint. With the help of his skinsuit, he doubled his natural running speed, stopping once he got to his quarters. The problem with doing this, was that his legs felt like dead weights and he was exhausted after the run.
Panting, he changed out of the Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and sandals he was wearing--he had brought these along to wear after the meeting with the higherups. His skinsuit slid away from his extremities, quite the opposite of what it had done earlier. After several seconds, it resembled a truncated wetsuit, stopping at his knees and elbows. Diplomacy could be the most dangerous part of war, he didn't want to go unprotected.
Still breathing heavily, he dressed in an all-black suit and red tie with black dress shoes, finishing the look off with a black fedora. Looking in the mirror to make sure that he was properly organized while applying cologne, he had to admit--he looked good. He straightened his neck-length ponytail--still unsure why he hadn't been told to cut it off yet--and walked out the door. He walked quickly to the rendezvous point above the plaza. Good, no one was there yet. He leaned against the railing, keeping an eye out for the Mage ambassador, and waited.

[Cyborg]

" Your taunts do nothing Rider. I have left my friends and family to return to the sea. Your meaningless taunts have no effect." Cyborg said with no emotion as he stood and followed Rider. For the first time in a while Cyborg went out and saw the surroundings. Of course he stayed emotionless, many days of staying in a blank, dark brig could to that to you.

[Ikkin]

The other alien was the first to answer Ikkin's question. "Spec Ops Fraze? We just sent Brian after him…"

The rodent-like one, meanwhile, found some kind of small device and gave it to Ikkin. "Main deck," he said, as a map appeared in the air above the device. "Directions may not be helpful to one who is not familiar with the base. This will guide you to the main deck based on your location, step by step."

Well, that made sense, Ikkin thought. She thanked him for his help, as the female alien started to ask her for a favor.

"And if you see a man who's name tag reads 'Brian Terson,'" she said, "could you bring him with you?"

Ikkin had no idea whether or not she would find "Brian Terson," or whether the alien's use of the word "man" meant that he was actually a human, but, she figured there was no harm in trying. "If I find him, I will," she said.

Unfortunately, Ikkin didn't see anyone with that nametag as she walked along, following spoken directions from the machine ("Turn right, in, twenty feet," then, seconds later, "Turn right, now") while looking at the nametags of anyone she passed by. Trying to read tiny tags on people's chests when not right in front of them really was quite awkward, she thought. The fact that Sev was following rather closely behind her, either very low in the air and threatening to knock someone over or on the ground with tiny bird-steps, didn't do much to help.

After what seemed like forever, Ikkin came to the place where she was supposed to meet Fraze for the negotiations. She saw him leaning against the railing and dressed to the nines in something that reminded her rather strongly of a business outfit (apart from the black fedora, anyway). She felt rather out of place in her own clothes; while her outfit wasn't unkept by any means, it looked more like something a showy pirate would wear than business attire.

She put the thought out of her mind; it wouldn't do to think about such things too much. "Shall we begin?" she asked, not really sure how to start, but figuring she'd better say something to get things started.

Sev sat down on the floor behind her and waited, wondering whether or not Ikkin would be upset if he "accidentally" tripped a passerby with his tail.

[Zylaa]

Zylaa heard Kat arrive.

"Not a bad idea. If you don't mind, Cap'n, I would like to do the keelhaulin'," Kat said.

"Objection-- then I wouldn't get any of the pleasure," Zylaa said, grinning at the first mate. Technically Kat outranked her, although as second mate Zylaa picked up some of the first mate-ing duties on Kat's departures to her other guilds.

She heard vague noises behind her, some other tired crew member mumbling "Morning," and then a strange sound carrying through the morning air-- the sound of someone wide awake.

"Morning all! Who's pumped for the execu- I mean, trial?" Jina said.

Zylaa turned towards Jina, incredulous. "Have you found a secret supply of caffeine by your bunk?" she asked Jina blankly. "How do you posess the skill of alertness this early?"

She noted Goosh directly behind her, looking just as tired as she felt. "Mornin'," she said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rider disappearing belowdecks wearing... were those meepit pajama pants?

((And yes, I have indeed messed around with post chronology so my conversations made sense. >_> And Rider, I couldn't resist.))

[Jina]

"Have you found a secret supply of caffeine by your bunk? How do you posess the skill of alertness this early?"

Jina grinned. "I don't need caffeine to keep me on my feet, although the odd drop of rum helps. And too much rum knocks me on the floor! I love the way that works."

She lifted up her pillow and grabbed her dagger from under it. If only there was a stash of aspirin there too. Still, she could always find some other way to cure her hangover. As long as there was no cold seawater involved.