Krill Drink Yarn (Arh)

[Sporky]

Silence.

Peaceful silence. Peaceful, relaxing silence. Finally, he could have a chance to relax.

Captain Glorck was by no means anti-social. No, he was definitely a friendly man when off-duty, and he was permanently on the guest list on two or three prestigious social clubs, of the top hat and tailcoat variety, and he wasn't a stranger to your standard cantina, either. But sometimes a man needs time to sit back and enjoy some alone time, y'know?

So there he was, alone in his office while the Yggdrasil, the behemoth warship that was his 'war mount' was docked in the Kuat Drive Yards for maintenance. In particular, it was maintenance to the weapons grid. They'd suffered a power surge in the middle of a small skirmish while out in the Outer Rim, and the laser cannon grid had gone down. So needless to say, she'd be docked for quite some time.

Content with his solitude, he removed his captain's hat, perching it on top of a stack of papers on his desk, all completely taken care of, and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk, hands clasped behind his head. He simply enjoyed this position for a few minutes, before he remembered the tin of that new flavor of Deltitos he'd been meaning to try. Opening the snack drawer of his desk, he withdrew the bright white and cyan tin of rice chips. White and cyan...odd color combo. They were the official colors of Sark Industries, and this new flavor was part of the limited time 'Celebrity Flavors' line, so whatever.

Popping off the top and peeling back the seal, Glorck cautiously sniffed inside it. BBQ sauce and Kinyen rice, personal flavor of Grigor Sark.. smelled absolutely disgusting. He reached into the tin, and slowly withdrew a chip, taking a bite..

And promptly made a note to never buy this flavor again. No, Sark...just no. Ick. He threw the rest of the tin in the garbage, still shuddering from the horrible taste in his mouth. He rooted around in his snack drawer again, and withdrew a bottle of Alderaan glacier water, draining the whole bottle in one go to get that taste out of his mouth. He made a note on his note datapad to publicly oppose this flavor. By the Force, Sark..

To say he was a little startled when his intercom let him know of a visitor was a bit of an understatement. The noise of the intercom alone nearly made him fall out of his chair. But he was a military man, so he quickly regained his composure, tossed the empty water bottle into the garbage, and put his hat back onto his head, making sure it wasn't at a jaunty angle.

[A®heim]

Trigonometry.

Trigomatree.

Trigonometry.

Trigooonometry.

And the study of it would be?

Uh...trigono...mo...metric...ology?

Trigonometricology.

Toy boat.

Pardon?

Say it three times fast.

Toy boat toy boat toy boat. Toy boat toy boat. Toyboat toyboat toyboat toyboat.

No one likes you. Know why?

I don't think tongue twisters affect us, having no tongues to twist.

Exactly! You're a cheater.

Sniper and sandpiper stepped off the orbital shuttle onto the incredible mega-ring port surrounding the planet of Kuat. For about the 10,000th time--they could probably cash in their fastpass reward points for an all expense-paid trip to Zeltros or something by now. Sean in particular would've bragged that he could find any location in the KDY blindfolded, even the restricted ones, but even he knew just how sheerly massive the station was. Maybe any sports bar blindfolded, though. Why do they call it the Kaydeewhy anyway?

Ayer, the avian Familiar synthicate perched on the middle-aged man's shoulder, gave him an incredulous look and answered his foolhardy banter in a tinny monotone edged with just the slightest hint of sarcasm. Because it's the Kuat Drive Yards. It's an acronym.

Sean rolled his eyes. I know that. I mean why did they give such a pinacle of architecture such a lame name?

They named it for what it is. You can't deny the logic. He paused a moment, musing in some complex shallow thought. ...so what would you call it?

Me? Sean chortled then narrowed his eyes. Hmm...the KILLER. DEATH. YAM!

Killer death yam. Ayer spoke evenly, pointedly ignoring the multiple raised eyebrows from hurried passerbys at both himself and his partner's apparent psychotic episode.

K, D, and Y are hard letters to work with, what else could I do? Krayt Dragon Yeast? Kindled Dreams Yodel? Krill Drink Yarn? Those are just preposterous.

And Killer Death Yam isn't? It doesn't even look like a yam!

Sean raised his index finger. Ah, but if the yam was cut into curly fries it would.

Ayer just gave up.

Believe it or not, the two were here on business. Not Republic military business (when was it ever, really?), but serious business. By some perverse collision of providence and some greater force of irony, Sean Mu'haro was a talent scout for an underground technological agency: Project Familiar--a smattering of scientific outcasts, alienated minds, and political criminals all confined in a smallish subterranean headquarters and put to work developing one-step-above-state-of-the-art...developments under the unachievable mission statement of "save the universe from stuff, 'stuff' to be defined more precisely at a later date."

They were looking for a ship. More specifically, a big ship. Not good enough still? They had found the Sark Industries Mirelurk-class dreadnought at long last and it suddenly struck them as rather amazing they hadn't found it much sooner. The behemoth had more guns than a sociopathic noghri and a name they had spent a majority of the shuttletrip debating how to pronounce. Stepping up to the primary docking ramp, he saluted the two uniformed crewman or port authorities or something assumingly standing guard. You know, against crazy people. Like him.

Sean Mu'haro, First Class Trigonomonometricologist.

They stared at him with bored, questioning expressions. He tried again with a clearer message motioning to the sides in twitchy motions with his hands. Open sesame.

One of them raised an eyebrow. Good! Making progress! I'm supposed to be on the other side of that door, sooo...move.

Nothing. These guys were vets.

Sean gave a resigned sigh and spoke in the most boring monotone he could manage. I have an appoitment with the captain on an important, highly classified matter.

One of the guards took a datapad out of a pouch on his belt and scanned it quickly. He gave a slow nod to his co-nonworker who said something into a commlink. Just when it seemed the universe would come to an end before anything got anywhere, the door clicked open and the guard said (actually said), "Go on through."

A few more strange looks, a lot more dead ends, and an intimate familiarity with the ship's internal lift system later found the two nodding their way past a final pair of personnel and up to the door to the captain's chamber, mercifully left ajar. Shall I introduce you as Sean Mu'haro, Trigonomonometricologist? Sean rolled his eyes at the droid still perched on his shoulder and stepped inside.

Sweet Lord of all that is not hideous in this world have mercy. What was that thing doing there? It was...grotesque! A perversion of life in all its beauty except this case. What heartless, cruel power would allow BBQ sauce and Kinyen rice to be released as a flavor of potato chip!? Stealing and corrupting the vulnerable soul of a Familiar was one thing, but this... this could never be forgiven. Ever. Oh, and the captain was in there too.

Sean saluted the big green guy in a bit more formal a fashion than he had with the lethargy brothers. PFC Sean Mu'haro, Rifle Specialist, HALO devision. He lowered his hand and took a deep breath. And this is Ayer.

[Sporky]

Glorck was idly prodding the little model of the Yggdrasil he kept on his desk when the door to his office swung fully open and his visitor stepped in. He offered a salute in return, and gestured towards one of the red velvet armchairs in the corner, by the very large transparisteel window. Glorck had never approved of those formal, stiff wooden chairs. "Please, pull up a chair. I wouldn't have you stand around all day."

Obviously, the funny little birdy drew Glorck's attention, and he raised an eyeridge at it. There was something vaguely...familiar about it, that he couldn't quite place. Ah well, it was probably nothing.

The droid seemed so lifelike, too. Such fluidity to its movements, the odd headtilt here, a shift in position as if it was uncomfortable there..not at all like the clunky, jerky movements he was used to seeing in automatons.

He leaned back somewhat in his own seat, regarding this Sean fellow with interest. A private (Okay, private first class, but close enough.), and a sniper to boot, requesting audience with the captain of a dreadnought.. sure is a funny little galaxy.

"So, Mr...Mu'Haro. What bring you and..Ayer, was it? to my office today?"

[A®heim]

Ah, see that's the tricky bit. He took a seat in one of the surprisingly non-lethal chairs with a quick nod of thanks. If I told you, I'd have to kill you. Sean's face broke into a wide grin with a short laugh to accompany it. Nah, just a bit a' war humor. Comes with the job. No, see I do a little freelance investigative work for ProForum. It's a small little military publication--the reporters are all active participants in the Republic military telling their stories and gettin' the absolute truth from their comrades in arms!

Ayer for his part responded to Glorck's raised ridge with a shift in his right wing followed by a swift flick of one of the feather-like solar array just over his visor in a sort of salute. Ayer's the name all right. Pleasure to be aboard, sir. He knew that his design was anything but common and that it often got many stares of wonder. Ayer relished it. A model of the ship they were on board sat on her captain's desk--frightening even in its diminutive form. It was a bit off scale, though--the bow cross-section is far wider in reality that the model would suggest. Granted this was by no more than a couple meters, but to such a meticulous by design mind, a couple meters was synonymous to a couple miles. He disregarded the model with a tiny noise of disgust, but gave Glorck what might be construed as a nervous smile in case he heard.

It's always safe to be polite, with the exception of the Kal'huzi tribe of the Ranth who regard the offering of a handshake is akin to an act of ultimate disrespect and a declaration of war at which point they will likely attempt to crush you with their teeth or defeat you with magic.

Would you mind if I ask after some of your personal experiences and triumphs aboard this state-of-the-art Cap blaster. It's been gaining a lot of media attention, I'm sure you know. I hope to put the more negative aspects to rest in regards to this awesome vessel. Sean's gaze traveled back up to something else that had caught his eye when he entered--other than the hellish potato chips, that is. That same eye glinted with a fond light and the corner of his lip pulled into another, slighter smile. Though, maybe you could satiate my curiosity on something a little smaller; that old rifle there, is that a vintage Tusken phase cycler rifle?

[Sporky]

"Kill me, is that what they say nowadays?"

Glorck shook his head in amusement. "What was it Ermey used to say...ah, yes."He paused for a moment, reflecting on his instructor's best angry face, which he did his very best to replicate. It worked surprisingly well, actually. "If you don't stop asking so many gorramn questions, I'll shove your rifle so far down your throat, the latrines will have to be made blasterproof!" The impression was followed by another laugh, accompanied by a far-off look in Glorck's eyes as his mind briefly drifted back to younger, simpler times. But no matter, this was time for the present.

He chuckled again when Ayer saluted. Such a wondroud little droid. Truth be told, he was a little jealous. He wanted one. So smooth-moving, so majestic just there perched on the man's shoulder..jelly Alzarian was jelly.

Of course Glorck's chest swelled with pride when Sean spoke of his war mount. Truly, she was a fearsome sight to behold, especially the array of truly mammoth spinal guns that was her main weapons array. There was no questioning it, the Yggdrasil was a definite sign that the Republic was srs bzns serious business.

But then Sean addressed the gun hanging on the wall behind Glorck's desk, and Glorck, in the middle of filling his japor ivory wood pipe so he could truly give his ship justice, grinned a wide, toothy grin. "Why yes my boy, it is. Would you care to hold it for yourself? It's not very delicate, as you can no doubt see."

[A®heim]

Sean had his forehead cradled in one hand, shaking his head back and forth as he laughed at the Captain's boisterous impression of what he assumed to be a former friend or mentor. He had initially feared that the Alzarian sitting in front of him might be yet another hoity toity better-paid-than-thou higherups he had far too much past experience with for his liking, but Glorck--an utterly ridiculous name--seemed to be a pleasantly ridiculous person who just happened to captain a ridiculously powerful warship. The beaurocracy is wise.

Ayer was watching the pair with a subtle shake of his head. He had initially feared that the Alzarian sitting in front of him might be exactly like his partner. His fears had been confirmed. It was like looking at a giant, green warty Sean placed at the helm of what might be the heaviest armed vessel in the known universe. The beaurocracy was insane.

It wasn't that he had anything against the Captain. He didn't dislike the man and certainly didn't dislike his partner. It was only that every scenario involving the two of them that his processors were able to cobble together ended in disaster--and not 'oops we broke that priceless antique vase' mild kind of disaster, but more of the 'oops I set Dantooine on fire' type.

Blissfully ignorant to his Familiar's concerns, Sean's eyes lit up when offered the chance to hold a true relic of sticks-that-go-boom history. I'd be surprised if it were. Those raiders've been draggin' em through the sand for two thousand years and that hasn't allowed any more moisture farmers to keep uncooked! He chuckled a bit at what most 'men' in Glorck's position might have called tasteless humor, but he had a feeling this Alvarian was different--the sort that appreciated a little break from the formalities that came with the job description. He certainly knew a good weapon...

Sean accepted the rifle with a short nod, holding it gingerly not so much out of fear of damaging it but out of respect for craftsmanship you rarely got in mass produced stamped weapons these days. He placed the butt against his shoulder, aiming away from the captain, looking down the well-worn sites and feeling the even more weathered trigger. This was no museum replica--this blaster had seen use in its time. Those settlers they got these from all those centuries ago must of said, "Alright, this planet we're moving to sucks. It's covered in sand, lightyears away from any form of civilization, and full of dangerous animals with sharp teeth and rock-hard skin....So let's build this gun!" He grinned and returned the weapon to its owner.

Pity how that reliability didn't work out so well for them. Ayer mumbled from Sean's shoulder.

Worked out fine for the Tuskens! If they weren't so unintelligible and prone to spontaneous murder, I'd've suggested recruitin' them into the military. Wouldn't that be a sight for Sith eyes when the 901st Tusken battalion comes charging out of a dropship? He sat back in the chair still smiling with that image in his head. The seat was actually quite comfortable--a nice deviation from the usually spartan wood or durasteel accomodations found in most captain's offices. Even Ayer was impressed by the rather warm reception they were receiving from such a decorated officer, and admittedly amused by the simulation going through his head of hollering Tusken Raiders pouring out of a dropship.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand, what can you tell me about your experiences thus far with this vessel? How'd ya feel when you first found out you would be assigned at its helm?