Road to Revelation (Whiskey, Tango, Axle)

[Latus]

Consciousness lingered in returning. The one propped against an uncomfortable corner ceased to be a man and became naught but feeling, concentrated on the pulsating soreness that lingered; a white dwarf star behind eyes. Red haze about the edges of vision with eyes held shut tightly, a ringing of ears that seemed to flow like a wave in an ocean of silence and of pain. Agony on the back of the head though low, base of the skull low. The forehead and red haze throbbed after a beating heart as ripples of pain and ringing of ears on the newly calm ocean of the mind. It nearly passed into blackness again for the pain was so intense, overwhelming all sensation yet bringing a taste of copper. Feeling was also slow to return, reaching out with tendrils of neurons from the nerve center down six dead appendages. The feeling was a relief, not sore but cold as it became aware that bare skin was touching a smooth surface. Fingers curled, closing around rough fabric and the resistance of skin met, sensations playing out on finger and new leg. Feet now, toes spreading out, feeling enclosed and moist, movement stretching soreness from muscles. The roots of the wings became warm as sensation flooded hundreds of prickling receptors and muscles extended, opening outward. There was skin too, staggered chilled sensations ran here and there at interval among the itchy quills. Finally, true function burst through the multitude of neurons and receptors in the brain and a squeak of air fled through clenched teeth.

Axle's eyes slowly pried open.

He felt them open though they remained darkly clouded, the red haze a halo to his vision, and found they could not focus. Deep blue eyes swam in their sockets until they wanted downward into his lap; a murmuring groan passed his lips. Whh... mmph. Whhu... Hesitantly he forced his mind to concentrate then relented, the dull aching of his head bursting through his thoughts and refusing to fade. After several failed attempts the edges returned to Axle's vision and the image before him became clear, the red haze ebbing away as his head throbbed harder. Groaning, he silently wished to slumber again for he did not like what he saw; bars, gray bars wrought of a dull shiny metal.

Mmhn, mmhnnooo... His voice was weak but weight of the emotion behind it was immense. Cage... I am... why a cage... I... I. Am. In. A. Sodding. Durasteel. Cage. Each word rode a heartbeat or a breath through his thoughts. Cringing at his own movements he bowed his head and, clutching his wings to his back he pulled his legs to his chest feeling all but hopeless. All the while, his mind fought the haze for every mote of clarity and they were hard won indeed.

************

An indeterminable amount of time later Axle gasped lightly and his head returned to an upright position. Some of the soreness had left him and he could finally see straight. His knees were wet, he could feel it through the fabric. Had he been... no, impossible. He didn't cry; couldn't cry. Taking a few deep breaths he let go of his legs and looked around. He was in what appeared to be a small cargo bay, the walls lined with boxes and crates of things from foodstuffs to clothes. Surprisingly his cage seemed to take up most of the limited space. Against the far wall, not three feet from him, was a small bunk. Axle's eyes widened as he saw a partially covered Whiskey sprawled out upon it. She still wore the same clothes as before and her face seemed almost human. He sighed, at least for the time being he was alone. Alone with his thoughts.

Escape... escape... escape...

[Meira]

After her initial scare earlier in the trip, Whiskey had determined not to fall asleep. Though there were still many hours left on the journey, even at light speed, she had made her decision and was sticking with it. If there was anything that all of the Green Meadows Assassins might have in common, it would be their stubborn ability to stick with something through to the end. However, Whiskey had never attempted such stubbornness without a properly functioning RELIC chip.

Time droned on, and the endless stream of hyperspace became hypnotic in the cockpit, causing the tiny woman to flee into the only other space available, the hold. But the cramped quarters and an unconsciously peaceful Axle set up a recipy for droopy eyes. Whiskey would return to the cockpit, only to double back to the hold a few minutes later. This circular dance went on for perhaps an hour before the woman began to lose a true sense of being awake.

Moments of micro sleep would overtake the honey eyed female, causing her to nod off behind the controls until her head dripped just a little too low and she would jerk back into consciousness. She would walk into the hold, only to find that she was still in the pilot's chair, having imagined the act of moving and believed it to be real. Finally, these brief moments gave way to a strange state of being. For all intents and purposes, the woman was asleep, but as the fragments of what might be called dreams passed before her still open eyes, she would move in response to them.

The hallway was empty. All of the guards were either dead, or unconscious. In either case, they were also stored safely out of the way. The tap of her shoes on the metal floor was barely audible as she wound through the hallway deeper and deeper into the complex. Most of the lights were extinguished, with only back up power lighting her way. It wouldn't matter. Whiskey had memorized the layout of the complex so thoroughly, she could find her way in total darkness. But the light helped.


She sat up on her bunk, slowly coming to a standing position. She turned, leaning her back against one wall as her hand drew an imaginary blaster pistol from the holster that wasn't on her hip.

Her breathing quickened and Whiskey pushed off the wall, spinning towards and through the doorway, one shot taking out one guard as she moved... she charged forward, shooting the second guard.

Whiskey staggered around the hold, much less graceful than her dream-self, knocking loose items that had once been stored in an orderly fasion. The pistol that she thought she held in her hand recoiled as she dispatched the two guards that didn't exist.

Turning her head, Whiskey's eyes caught the ringleader's as he staggered backwards. Her body turned slowly as she paced towards him. He dropped his small blaster from his shaking hand and fell to his knees, begging to be spared. Whiskey's eyes never blinked as she slowly shook her head. She lifted her blaster, pushing it against the space between the man's eyes. The end of the barrel was still hot, and a sizzle could be heard as it burned the weeping man's flesh. She had only one last detail to confirm before she pulled the trigger.

Eyes that were open, but did not see what was truly before her, landed on Axle. She slowly shook her head at the pleas he had not uttered. Her empty hand lifted, in the shape of the blaster she did not hold, until it was pointed at Axle's forehead.

Are you Johan Sentori?

[Latus]

It is a terrible thing being unaware of time. An overactive mind, though useful in situations where quick thinking was a must, made the seconds crawl. An hour could feel like an eternity in total silence. The motionless form in the cage was only aware of the moments passing by his breathing and the inaudible heartbeats that made his fingers twitch every now and then. He had shifted to a more comfortable position, the best he could find in such a case; his legs were stretched as far as was possible, hands on knees, and wings half open to catch as much heat as could be afforded by the frigid cargo bay. His thoughts had left the possibility of any immediate escape and instead turned to calculating, plotting possibilities, eventualities, even insane plans that would never come to fruition. For he had learned long ago that preparation was key and when the time came he would be prepared. Regrettably, all plans hinged on being able to get out of the cage.

Axle hated cages with a passion. Not only had he been raised in one, a cage allowed him no room to maneuver, unable to stretch, and, key to any of his escape plans, the ability to fly... oh wait. Axle didn't even have to turn his head to see the jagged edges of the cut barbs of his feathers. It was still some time before he even began to lose the cut ones naturally much less fly. Huffing he looked up at the lock on the bars; an old, hard lock impossible to open without picking the mechanism. The act of picking was itself impossible as well. He had nothing on his person. His jacket which was full of useful hiding places had been confiscated as was left with nothing more than the shirt on his back, ragged jeans, and worn boots. Shaking his head Axle returned to silent pondering, knowing that something would show itself, in time.

His thoughts were interrupted as Whiskey stirred in her bunk. Relaxing his muscles Axle slumped in the cage feigning sleep. He didn't need her attention, not yet. All he could do was wait, eyes closed, head on his shoulder, wing tips sticking limply through the openings of the cage. Whiskey's movements were slow as he followed her footsteps by sound, out of the cargo bay, echos in the next room, back in, back on the bunk. This went on for a time, one that Axle could not accurately measure, until her footfalls became shuffling. The shuffling returned to he rough cot from before, the squeak of springs straining against her weight.

Silence.

The now half awake experiment's eyes slowly cracked open to find the lithe form, once again, laid upon the spartan bed. Carefully peeking toward the bed Axle saw the woman in a seated position, eyes closed and the rise of her chest regular and calm. Sighing, Axle sat straight and shook his head, the fog of sleep vanishing before the movement. Eyes now open and alert he gazed at her quizzically, pity replaced with anger; she would pay for putting him in that cage.

As the blue eyes passed from her something caught his gaze. His eyes shot in the direction of the glint and his breath caught. Between the door and the other end of the cage, hardly visible against the matching metallic gray of the floor, was a short length of thick steel wire no more than two inches end to end barely than a foot from the cage. He gazed at it for a moment, his mind unsure if it was a trick of the light meant to tempt him into giving himself away. With such a wire, and a bit of luck, he could pick the lock. As moments ticked by, Axle realized that this was no dream. Quickly he shot Whiskey a glance, failing to notice that a length of the box spring, two inches long, was missing. With a small amount of luck and flexibility he managed to rotate himself so his head was facing the door of both bay and cage. Giving Whiskey another momentary glance he slowly eased his arm through a void in the bars.

Instantly, Whiskey's breathing changed from calm and regular to heavy and gasping. Axle froze on the spot, fratz... busted. Slowly his head turned toward his captor, a look of fear sharpening his facial features. Their eyes met. Sure enough, staring straight at him. He could feel the adrenaline start to pool, eyesight honed on the fear of his arm being broken or some such punishment. At least it'll go in... style? What in the galaxy... She was indeed staring at him but her face was blank, blanker than usual if that was even possible. As he watched her weight shifted and, with a screaming of metal springs, she stood.

Adrenaline was singing in Axle's blood now, his eyes unable to unlock from the honey colored pools and soft form of her face. She moved strangely as if micro-gravity didn't apply to her, but it was clumsy, labored. Her form hovered against a close wall and several things were knocked loose, clattering to the ground. He recognized the hand movement as it strayed to her side and closed around something invisible, it was unmistakable; pistol. He watched as she moved again, her hand pantomiming quite excellently the motion of a blaster firing twice. Understanding hit at once; sleepwalking. Exhaustion? His eyes narrowed at her, something wasn't adding up; that something most probably the "enhancement."

Her movements slowly turned to his cage and his muscles, remembering what they had been doing, unfroze. Extending his arm farther through the opening he seized the piece of wire the an instant before Whiskey's foot fell upon it. Retrieving his arm Axle spun around in the cage, faster than before. In the motion he slipped the bit of wire into his pocket, careful not to stab himself in the process. Pleased for the moment he sat on in silence until the labored footsteps ended inches from the hatch of the cage. Again their eyes met. For a moment she said nothing, only stared at him with her emotionless unseeing eyes.

Are you Johan Sentori?

Axle paused unsure of what to say. He had seen many things in his short years free but a sleepwalker, a cogent one at that, was not one of them. Quickly his mind began weighing options, finally settling on the best in such short notice; go along with the fantasy. If this was a dream based on a past experience she would relive it, whatever he said. Axle cared about one thing and one thing only; he had to get Whiskey away from him, asleep preferably, and the lock could be picked. Breathing in he spoke to her, his voice loud enough only to barely be heard and deeper than his normal voice.

I... I am indeed.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

Well….after hightailing it away from her confrontation with Uniform, Tango had certainly been at a loss of where to go. Not that this was any different from any other day of the week, but meeting Uniform again just had her put off for some reason. It wasn’t that she wasn’t at least sort of…pleased?...to see Uniform alive, but rather that she’d hoped not to meet anyone at all. If she had her choice, and had been intended to meet someone either way…why couldn’t it have been Delta…or better yet, Alpha….or best of all…

Cut it out Tango…just…stop. He’s dead…as in the opposite of alive. Victor is dead…and you know what…it’s your fault…or partially your fault. Why couldn’t the idiot just get aboard the blasted ship?!

Only then did the woman stop, wondering just WHO she was speaking to. With a heavy sigh she continued her, now slightly dreary, trudge along the embankment that kept her just out of sight of the road she was following.

Wonderful…now I’m talking to myself. Heh…so this is what insanity feels like?

It may have sounded, to any who could have heard her, like she was amused by the revelation. In truth, she wasn’t at all amused. In fact…she didn’t FEEL anything. It was a simple statement of fact to her. This HAD to be what insanity felt like…the mixture of painful emotions that swirled about within her, combined with her speaking aloud to herself…it MUST be insanity. Insanity, however, by definition, was…by law… “mental illness of such a severe nature that a person cannot distinguish fantasy from reality, cannot conduct her/his affairs due to psychosis, or is subject to uncontrollable impulsive behavior.” She could…of course…delve into the realm of psychosis and its definition, but…she felt that insanity was enough.

Yes…Tango decided…she was going insane.

[Meira]

The response the winged man gave the sleepwalking woman wasn't quite right. The real Johan Sentori had barely been able to speak the last time he heard his name. But it didn't matter. Whiskey's awareness of the world around her was severely limited. Axle's voice hadn't even filtered into this waking dream. Instead, she only saw a coward of a man kneeling before here and only heard the pathetic stammering of "yes".

Nice to know you. Goodbye.

Her finger squeezed the invisible trigger. The shot rang out in the empty silence of the room as the back half of Johan's head collided with the far wall. Whiskey's cheeks puffed momentarily with a concentration of air. That air was let out rapidly with a puff and the whisper of pew as her sleepwalking form vocalized the sound of the shot.

Whiskey's hand reholstered the invisible weapon. Then, for a few long moments, she stood motionless in the middle of the hold. Her eyes were blank and unfocused, as if she'd been a droid shut down. Slowly, she turned, moving back to the bunk and lowering her form onto it. As strangely and suddenly as the whole episode had began, it ended. For the next hour, Whiskey didn't move.

But sleep only lasts as long as the body needs it. And the body of a rigorously trained assassin is quickly regenerated. Coming to, Whiskey stretched on the bunk before rolling over. She caught sight of Axle in his cage, but nothing alerted her suspicion, and so she ignored the man as she stood up and made her way to the cockpit.

[Latus]

The caged Axle now couldn't take his eyes off of his captor, her honey color eyes seeming forcibly locked with his. The quiet response didn't seem to phase the woman as her hand remained clasped around the invisible pistol. His breathing was even and calm as he waited in silence. Axle's blessedly sharp sight saw a change overtake Whiskey's eyes, the corneas twitched and shrank only slightly but there was thought behind it even if it was subconscious.

Nice to know you. Goodbye.

An almost imperceptible whisper left Whiskey's lips and her hand recoiled. Pew... Axle almost smiled at her comment and his eyes changed focus viewing the bigger picture of her lithe body and the grating of the cage on all sides visible. Silence then fell over the hold, a deeper one than before. Concentrating again, Axle focused on the woman's eyes.

It is truly amazing how much you can read about a person by their eyes. However this goes deeper than just avoiding eye contact or giving the appearance of shiftiness. Quickly dilating or tightening pupils, fractional twitches of the cornea, looking to the right in conversation, even rapid movement of the eyeball itself can act as a warning sign to danger. However, most do not have the accuracy of eyesight to notice these subtle changes. When Whiskey's eyes slowly wandered north, the pupils dilating and freezing in place, he could guess the reason; the vision was over. For a moment nothing happened, the silence only broken by the sound of the pair's light breathing. Then, as if nothing was out of place, the woman turned, strode to the cot, and laid back down. A moment later there was no movement, only the steady rise and fall of her chest.

Sighing, Axle relaxed, his arms falling to his side and legs sliding to rest against the end of the cage. For a few moments Axle nearly felt like sleeping himself, holding himself as tight as he had took a great deal of energy. As he shifted to a more comfortable position his hand brushed over something in his pocket and he was instantly awake; he remembered. The wire! Thrusting his hand into his jeans he quickly withdrew the insignificant piece of wire. A smile burst over his lips forcing his ears to retreat in the opposite direction. Spinning himself around he came face to face with the lock. He hadn't done much lock picking in his time free but he knew the basics. Reaching around the bars he jammed the wire into the hole and began twisting.

************

Some time later Axle was getting frustrated, the smile now a scowl. The only locks he had ever picked were simple ones and this one was certainly not. The wire had become bent at several points and its effectiveness was lessening but for all the scratching and grunting Whiskey didn't awaken. At least that was something. Groaning, Axle withdrew his arm and reclined in the cage, back against the hatch. His mind was churning hard trying to access some lost stimulus that might remind him of a long lost trick.Simple locks were simple to break. He knew it was there, lingering behind some wall in the back of his brain that no amount of concentration could penetrate. Shaking his head he shut his eyes and redeposited the wire in his pocket with a huff. It was right there in his brain, something so simple...

A subdued squeak of metal springs brought Axle back. The lesser sound must have meant she moved in bed, nothing special. Resisting the temptation he didn't look over at Whiskey, there was no point to it. He sat on in silence for another few seconds before a harsher shriek of springs celebrated her departure. The scrape of boots on metal proved to be a better incentive to look and Axle twisted his head around in time to catch the back half of her body leaving the room.

Axle stifled a gasp, he remembered. There was something in the way his captor had her hands, the placement of the fingers; he needed a stabilizer! Something long and straight that he had seen locks picked with before, a stabilizer that kept some mechanism from resetting. The best thing was, he had an idea where to get one. Reaching behind him he ran his hand over the rows of sharp barbs. A primary should be strong enough... Slowly he tested a barb, tugging on it until he felt the attachment. Shifting his hand he tried another one; no good. When he molted naturally the barb would simply fall out, it would itch like crazy but it didn't hurt. Another; no. His mind floated back to his position. With his inability to fly, how would he get away when he got out... steal the ship. Perfect! Thanks brain. Another feather in his grip; with an itch and a twinge it came out easily. Grinning again sharply he retrieved the wire, twisted around, and thrust both arms through the cage.

See? Simple.

Quickly he inserted both "tools" into the lock and placed his ear against the hatch. He had to work fast, no worrying about being caught now.

*************

Several decade long minutes later, the lock gave a dull clack and the hatch slowly swung open. Axle's breathing had quickened and his blood was filled with adrenaline as he slowly crawled out of the confines of the metal bars. Cautiously he flattened himself against the only empty wall adjacent to the exit. Leaning out he peeked around the wall. His eyes met with a most fortuitous sight; it was the bridge... well, cockpit for such a small craft. Taking a few shallow breaths Axle's head disappeared behind the wall again. His mind flowed with ideas, plans for getting the upper hand and finally one settled out. He had little choice in the matter.

Quick, quiet. Get in, throw punch, take control... wonder how she likes cages?

Ducking around the corner he rushed toward Whiskey, hands balling into fists, wings half open to act if they were needed. Bringing his hand up he drew back to punch. The moment before his fist flew he noticed his reflection on the plastisteel view-port.

Fratz.

Changing his movements at the last instant he brought his elbow and shoulder to bear striking at her upper ribs. Even though he didn't weight much he could throw himself around if he needed, all one hundred or so pounds of himself. The shoulder could knock her off balance, that was most important.

[Meira]

The ship was on course. Only a few more standard hours until they would arrive at the rendezvous and she'd hand over her mark to the Rocky Creek officials. Then it would be back to Green Meadows for a well needed check up. Whiskey studied her nav computer and readouts diligently. She was eager, anxious to get home.

Home?

Whiskey paused, frozen by the thought. Though her memory had been wiped several times, she didn't believe she'd ever used such a word, much less in reference to Green Meadows. It was one of the many words Whiskey had deemed useless. She knew it, could define it, but its existence was irrelevant to her. But what if it wasn't? Green Meadows was where she lived, after all. She slept, ate, and trained there. It was where she went when injured, it was where she recovered. It was where they removed the useless memories from her mind, allowing her to be an efficient tool. All of these things fit the definition for dwelling, residence. But home? Was there a different significance to this word?

Had the assassin not been so distracted by her pointless musings... had her chip been functioning... had the universe been as it should, she would have heard the muted click of the opening lock, the soft footfalls in the hold. Perhaps she might have heard his breathing, or seen his reflection in the plastisteel view-port. But she didn't. Not until Axle charged, full tilt towards her did she come out of her stupor.

But the heavier sound of feet on the metal floor alerted the assassin to the intruder. She spun around like a flash, but it was already too late. She registered the sight of Axle's shoulder and elbow only as they collided with her rib cage. The force of his blow, and her lack of preparation, allowed for the air to escape completely from her lungs. To make matters worse, she felt, and heard, the sharp crack of a rib breaking. But it was low, no danger to puncturing a lung. There were other, more pressing things to worry about... like how her back had hit against the console.

This impact, against the sharp corner of the controls, caused Whiskey to cry out in pain as her small arms flailed to push the winged man away. She managed to push him back, creating a small pocket of air between them. This gave her the space to swing a left hook for the man's jaw.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

As the two struggled in the small space of the cockpit, one fateful detail went ignored. The impact of two bodies against the panel damaged the hyperdrive controls. As a precautionary feature, the ship immediately dropped out of hyperspace. Such a feature was for safety, so that a faulty hyperdrive couldn't carry the ship's passengers through a star, or planet.

However, the drop from hyperspace landed the small ship dangerously close to the planet Mustafar. So close, in fact, that the planet's gravity caught hold of the ship the instant it appeared and began to pull it downward toward its surface.

[Latus]

Everything about the cockpit seemed to slow as Axle collided with his captor, slamming her weight back against the control console. His heart rate had climbed to an enormous level, enough so that he could hear the beats in his ears. In the jarring impact he received a massive amount of sensory information, all of which he could barely decipher in time. First it was the impact with the woman's body. As the pair hit the console he felt something in her sternum crack followed by an exhaling scream that pierced the previous silence of the cockpit. The taste of copper in his mouth and a lungful of air from Whiskey nearly covered the second feeling, a hesitant metallic crunching, grinding snap from the control console she had hit.

That's not a good sound...

He was unable to react as Whiskey's arms pressed against him and shoved him back, his previous rush leaving him open for a counter attack. He flowed quickly into a defensive stance as she stepped foreword to throw a punch. He started to shift his weight to avoid but the ship gave a massive lurch throwing him off balance. The instant before her fist hit the lower part of his jaw he saw the universe return to real-space, the mass of a planet filling the entirety of the view-port. A flash of pain ran through his jaw and he was spun and thrust back, stumbling into the back wall face first. He barely caught himself on the paneling; mmph, my jaw... Another shock of pain ran through Axle's jaw as he felt it reenter the proper position.

Ow!

Slowly, he shifted back into the defensive stance bringing both fists and wings to a ready position. His eyes caught onto something as he took a step nearer to her; the ship was bearing down on the planet. A look of worry ebbed into his eyes and an uneasy feeling fell over him. His eyes returned to Whiskey, her own stance sharp; he would have to get a hold on the situation soon or the landing could get interesting.

How interesting? Use your imagination.

At just more than arm's length in Axle took another cautious step in and struck. Feinting to the right before striking with a reverse spin that used the added speed on the axis to increase the force of his now open wing in a blunt strike to her upper body. When he was completely turned he took another step in and threw an inaccurate hay maker. His mind was shifting focus involuntarily; the ship had to be brought under control!

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

(long story short: she walked. she sat and checked her supplies. she stood up and started walking again. the end.))

There really wasn’t much for an assassin on the run to do really…at the exact moment, THIS assassin on the run just happened to be walking. That was about all she COULD do. If she could just keep moving, it would be more difficult for her to be tracked by anyone the Meadows sent after her. There was a problem with constantly moving, however…supplies ran low more swiftly. Deciding it was time for a break in her trudging, Tango took a seat in the shade of a small set of trees out of immediate sight of the road, stretching out tired legs as she pulled her pack off her shoulder and onto her lap. Untying the top of the pack, she poked her head in and rummaged about for a moment, searching out the last fruit she’d gathered. Pulling the soft thing out, she eyed it a moment and sighed at the sight of the mold growing on it.

--Well…there goes lunch…--

The thought was followed by a sigh and more rummaging. The simple “by feel” search told the woman nearly everything she needed. Food supplies were needed…rations would be best. While not the most palatable food source, they tended to last far longer than fresh food, which was a big bonus. Pulling out a small prescription bottle, she eyed the pills inside….enough for about a year. A small nod followed as she put the bottle back into its compartment inside the pack...it was a good thing she’d been given permission to carry the pills for when she worked with other female members of the Meadows. Those little pills were seriously a girl’s best friend at times. Pulling out her med-kit she flipped open the dual latches and lifted the top of it. Kolto patches -Decent-, gauze -Decent-, sutures -Full stock…nearly-, assorted bandages -A bit low-, anti-bacterial fluid -Low-, cotton swabs -Passable-, gloves -passable-, aloe -decent-, wraps for sprains -same as always-, bite/sting medicines -could do with more-, eye/nose/ear drops -decent enough-, pain medication -I could use one right now but other than that…decent-. Slowly she filtered through the long list of items in her kit…surprisingly, it was a small kit compared to what she could be toting around. For now, she was confident that she had enough supplies to last…at least…for the most part…she COULD use more superglue.

So, it seemed that rations (and some dental floss) were what she needed most at the moment. Another long sigh and she gazed in the direction she had been headed…to the town there and, hopefully, to the food she could get her hands on and get away with before being caught. Rubbing the knee she’d bruised up the other day while scrambling down from her leafy perch from the night before, Tango groaned slightly as she pushed herself upward and shifted the items in her pack around to fit her med-kit once again. Closing the pack up once more, she hoisted it up her shoulder again and turned toward her destination again. It was just about then that lavender eyes caught a glimpse of something sparking to life high above in the atmosphere. Shielding her eyes a bit, she narrowed in on the object, attempting to discern its nature. With a shake of her head, she decided that it wasn’t worth it to her to stand still long enough to find out…and so the trudging began once more.

[Meira]

The punch had put some distance between herself and Axle, or at least as much distance as the small cockpit would allow. Really, she only had enough time to bring one hand to her chest, testing the spot where she felt the sharp pain. Yes, broken. Then, she'd barely had enough time to turn her head toward the console before Axle was moving back toward her. She turned her attention back to him, missing the sight of the ship dropping from hyperspace... and the image of the planet filling the view-port.

She'd thrown a weak kick towards the winged man, it missed. The pain in her chest was distracting her, and her chip was choosing not not help. She was on her own. Axle's feint had worked, and the blow to her torso sent a new wave of fire through her, causing her to gasp for air. But his hay maker was quickly avoided, and a good thing too. Had that blow landed, it was likely she'd be out for the count. Taking his momentum to her advantage, Whiskey shifted her weight from her back foot to her front, bringing the back one up for a roundhouse kick.

Mid way through the arc of the kick, Whiskey finally saw out the view-port. Again the ship lurched as Mustafar's gravity pulled it in, causing the last half of her kick to wobble as she struggled to get both feet back on the floor. But she wasn't fast enough. The jarring motion sent her tumbling forward again into the console. her arms jamming into many of the controls. Shards from buttons and knobs broke apart, some embedding into her arms. Warning signals and lights began to sound and flash.

Too fast, they were coming in too fast! Already they'd broken atmosphere, some point in their earlier struggle. There was the ground, coming in fast... too fast!!! Whiskey grabbed for the controls, pulling back. She'd forgotten about Axle by this point. But the controls were barely responsive. She was hardly able to level the ship out, but she'd slowed it slightly.

Too late...

Whiskey had just said the words and turned to grasp onto the pilot's chair with all her strengths as the ship knocked against the ground, bounced back up into the air several feet and then collided again. Whiskey's eyes were shut tight, and her arms were a vice grip on the chair as the ship shook and rocked. Several times she came out of the seat, almost letting go, but she held fast. She ship slid across the open plains until finally coming to a halt and pitching sideways. For several long moments, Whiskey didn't move or open her eyes. But when realization dawned on her that she was still alive, the very next thought was that Axle too might still be alive. Whiskey's eyes flashed open, looking for her prisoner.

[Latus]

No!

The swing went wide, the hard fist missing the surface it was aimed at by several inches. It was not a purposeful miss but a dodge and Axle knew he was about to pay the price. Quickly shifting his gaze over upon his captor he saw the shift in her stance, leveling her weight on one leg to throw a kick. Time seemed to slow as a sudden realization crossed Axle's mind, there was no way he could get out of the way in time. As the impact loomed ever closer the young man could see the planet loom magnify on the edges of his vision. They were coming in hard and the only thing Axle could do was cringe and slide his eyes shut.

Oh not good. Pain!

An instant later the ship gave a stomach turning lurch and Axle was thrown off balance as was Whiskey but the foot continued onward and struck him in the upper chest. It threw him off balance and he stumbled back, barely managing to keep his feet. Several seconds after the first the ship shuddered and jumped again and the winged youth was thrown off his feet landing hard on the metal paneling. A muffled gasp escaped his lips as he felt something tweak painfully in the joint of his wing's right shoulder. Groaning at the sudden flood of fresh pain Axle slowly scrambled to his feet and took a hesitant stumble toward the controls. Warning lights and the flare up from reentry on the view port flooded the cabin in a dull yellow-red and a deafening klaxon had blared to life.

Have to get ship... under control!

Quickly he looked up at where he had last seen his captor and did a sharp double take. Despite the situation Axle was unsurprisingly relieved at what he saw; Whiskey had taken the controls and was trying to correct the entry of the small ship. Though Axle didn't know the make or workings of her shuttle, her strained attempts were doing little to arrest the momentum of the burn in. Riding another lurch Axle shakily staggered toward the console and was forced to steady himself with his hands to avoid falling again.

For the moment Axle could do nothing, save watch small ship burn in before his eyes. He had never burned in uncontrolled before and it was terrifying. He loved his ship and burn in was fascinating and exciting but for the first time in a long time, Axle's wings were twitching with fear. Air was his one true love and, he swore to himself then and there, that he would fly around the world if he lived through this. The ship shuddered again but Axle was unprepared for it and without the luxury of the pilot's chair the shift in gravity lifted the young man off the deck and slammed him against the ceiling. Another shot of pain ran through the young man's right wing but failed to relent as he was slammed unmercifully to the deck.

Aah!

Struggling to his feet his eyes shot to the viewport and Axle gasped sharply. The landscape was visible and rushing up to greet the little ship, green and pristine as anything he had ever seen on any planet. Forcing a laugh he cursed his luck if he was to die here, even if he didn't he couldn't see more with clipped and injured wings. Giving one massive shudder the shuttle hit an air pocket and shuddered violently creaking and lifting Axle from the deck again, the force throwing him back into the small storage room colliding several times with the deck before finally slamming into the racks of Whiskey's belongings. Axle's vision erupted into stars and his mind grew dim, the impact of his collision nothing compared with what was yet to come.

***********

Feeling returned quicker as Axle returned to consciousness. His entire body throbbed painfully and he couldn't feel his left arm. The only thing he could feel from either wing on his back was the throbbing pain near the root of his right and a warm wet sensation creeping down the feathered surface and onto his back. A similar warm wet sensation had seeped into his eyes and, reaching up with his still free hand, he rubbed the smear away. Slowly they opened and Axle almost wished they hadn't; he saw his hand and the crimson color staining it with several points along his legs with smaller stains. Before long the sensation returned to his face and he was formed to wipe away another wave of warmth as it tricked down his face.

That's... that's my blood, that's a lot of my blood...

Wiping the blood away again Axle tried to focus on the situation. From what he could tell the engines of the small ship were no longer running and it was, finally, at a full and complete stop. Looking around he saw that the boxes and crates that Whiskey had stocked on the shelves were thrown about with some of the contents covering him in a vaguely Axle-shaped mound. Suddenly a breeze lifted his hair and he caught the smell of natural things off to his left. His eyes following the sensation he saw that a bulkhead had come open and was slightly ajar to the outside. As though nothing had really changed Axle's mind immediately leaped to the possibility of escape. His breathing quickened. Placing his still functioning arm behind him he pushed off, painfully moving to a hunched stand with wings clutched tightly against his back. The pressure seemed to be the only thing that helped against the pain. Hesitantly he hobbled to the door, a ragged, torn, and bloody sight and put his weight against it.

With little effort it gave way and swung out greeting the young man with a soothing and cooling blast of fresh air. Panting Axle afforded himself little time to savor it as he peered around. Gazing off into the waxing light the young man was struck with a feeling of nostalgia. Fine time for this... ugh. Not too far down. With some effort he lowered himself to the ground. He didn't care about Whiskey, he didn't care about the ship, her status or if anyone was anywhere around; all the young man knew was he had to get as far away as he could as quickly as he could. Gasping for air he stumbled off into the thinly forested area, his weak legs barely able to carry him faster than a hobbling walk.

Great... *pant pant* start...

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

((i did a bit of power play here guys, i'm sorry but i had to think of a way to get Tango in there without running away....so lat, meira, if you need/want me to change what i did/saw with tango, just let me know))


Walking was all well and good, but if she were honest with herself, Tango would realize swiftly that she was growing bored. The adrenaline her body was used to getting from her previously frequent missions just wasn’t as bountiful as before, and now that her RELIC chip was on the fritz she found herself swiftly bored by the monotony of her walk. Right about now she was almost hoping for something to happen…unfortunately, though Tango had heard the phrase “be careful what you wish for,” she’d never really put much thought into it…and it certainly wasn’t on her mind at the very moment that she passed into the small glade of trees that would swiftly become the resting ground for a rather twisted hunk of durasteel that had once been a ship. No…it wasn’t until about a minute into the glade that she looked up to the roar and flickering light of a swiftly approaching…something.

Flight won out in her instincts and, like the wildlife around her, she was on the move. Of course, there was only so fast she could go, and that certainly wasn’t going to be any faster than the ship careening through the skies in her general direction. Logic kicked in and she skidded to a stop, hitting the ground just as a small deer lept over her in its fight. It wasn’t a moment too soon, either, as the personal craft slammed into the trees just ahead of her and skidded to a rather abrupt and messy halt. A flicker of life…of fear…flashed behind those eyes before it was swiftly subdued once more. For a moment she stood there silently before shimmying up a near by tree and prowling through its branches to the next one. She had to discern if there was life in that wreckage…if there was, she might have to kill it, should it pose a threat to her.

Of course…this was the chip talking (thinking) for her as she crouched in the shadows of the tree branches and watched the young man who stumbled out of the craft and attempted to hobble swiftly away. For a moment her RELIC and emotions warred with each other as she crouched there, astute eyes surveyed the damage to him. It was…extensive. He could live…if given the proper medical treatment, but…but what? Why did she wait, hesitating to perform her duty as a trained medic? He…didn’t need to know she was there…all she had to do was come up behind him, put him in sleeper hold and ‘boom’ he’d be unconscious, she’d never be seen, she could patch him up and then go on her way…yes…that seemed appropriate. After waiting a few moments to make sure he wasn’t going to be followed by any friends, she dropped down behind him as silently as she could.

For the height she was coming from, and for her size and the gear she was carrying, that was actually surprisingly quiet. One didn’t live long as an assassin if one was loud, after all. Another flash of motion and her left arm had encircled his neck so that his chin rested comfortably in the crook of her arm, the other arm holding his head still. Ten seconds of pressure…that was all it should take for him to black out…just ten seconds. Unfortunately she wouldn’t get those ten seconds…she’d heard another sound from the ship…someone or something else was alive in there. Her attention was unfocused and she released her grip just enough to not harm him or put undue pressure against his neck and arteries, but she wasn’t about to let him go either as she glanced over her shoulder.

Lavender eyes widened in surprise as she caught sight of just exactly who else had been in that ship…

[Meira]

As the small assassin moved to stand, it became painfully clear to her that she'd not survived the landing unharmed. Aside from the broken rib Axle had given her, it seemed she had jammed her ankle against something as they crashed. Her attempts to put weight on it sent sharp pain through her leg, up her spine, and into her skull. Gingerly she tested it. It could only take part of the weight she'd normally place on it. Not broken, just badly sprained. Or at least she hoped.

She hobbled from the cockpit as best as she could in the tilted ship and into the cargo hold. Here, she found many things in disarray. But this did not disturb her. It was what she didn't find that disturbed her. And what she didn't find was a broken, unconscious Axle.

It didn't take much intelligence to determine what had happened. He was injured, that was obvious with all the blood he'd left behind. Worse, he was gone. An open door could mean little else. With a groan that had as much to do with the pain as the frustration, Whiskey pushed herself onward, towards the door. After so long, and being so close, she was right back where she started. No, she was worse off than when she started. She had a broken rib, a sprained ankle and a fried RELIC chip that was just as likely to short circuit again an kill her as it was to help her.

She scrambled to the door, all but falling out of the ship as she mistepped and slipped. Her elbow hit the ground, sending a shock of pain through her body causing her to hiss through her teeth, eyes squinting. When her eyes returned to normal, she caught sight of movement to the side of her vision. Turning her head, Whiskey was met with a most unexpected sight.

Tango?

In the quiet surrounding the crash, even Whiskey's light voice sounded loud. The confusion was evident, even in the one word, but it waned quickly. As odd as it was to run into another from Greem Meadows, it was also fortuitous. Tango would be able to help her bring this troublesome Axle in for good. Whiskey moved to stand and hobbled over toward where her comrade held Axle in a vice grip.

Do you have medical gear? That one broke one of my ribs and I think my ankle is sprained.

Whiskey's voice had regained it's near monotone, emotionless air. This was familiar. Tango was like her, an assassin, enhanced, efficient. She was one with a medical proficiency. Together they could end this goose chase quickly and Whiskey could finally get back and checked up.

[Latus]

He was panting, couldn't seem to catch his breath. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other to keep himself moving. At that moment the situation was looking terribly grim for him, the sides of his vision were starting to gray. He could hear his heart and his own panting in his ears as he looked down, watching the stains of red spread farther and farther down his arms and legs. The young man didn't even want to think of what his back or wings looked like. Trying to throw off the sudden feeling of sleepiness that his his mind, Axle stumbled on. Coming to a stop he put his weight against one of the trees, trying to keep himself awake. There was no way he could hear anything over the rush of blood and his own heartbeat. Pushing off from the tree the winged man slowly lurched foreword, knowing he had precious little time left...

Mmwhat a wayyyy to gohh.

All of a sudden an arm encircled his head and his weight is pulled back. His eyes go wide and he can feel his senses sharpen as adrenaline begins to flow to his brain. Surging back against her he tried to slip out, to get away but in his injured state the adrenaline wasn't enough. Especially in a headlock. Slowly and carefully he was forced down to a knee, the pressure on his neck strong but gentle. Grabbing the arm with his hands he pulls, tugs, rips at the fabric trying to get the grip to loosen. As the moments tick by he felt his thoughts begin to swim and, slowly, his mind went dark. Still jerking and twitching he fought and fought until his limbs no longer responded to his commands.

MMMMMNO! Phhhhhleeasssse!

Suddenly his lungs gasped air again and his vision returned in a flash, the grasp no longer cutting off the blood flow to his brain. Weakly he tried to struggle again, to regain his freedom. As he continued to squirm around he glanced up and paused for a heartbeat. He saw Whiskey, limping toward him from the still smoking hulk of her ship. You went around in a circle... great job birdbrain. His eyes grow wide and a cold sweat soak his forehead as he heard her speak to the person holding him, apparently a woman, like they knew each other. Giving a great groan he tried to get his whole body to move. Though still in pain he pushed his wings out against her chest to try to push her off.

Tango? Do you have medical gear? That one broke one of my ribs and I think my ankle is sprained.

Gorram it, let me go! I WONT go back to that place. Get off me. I'd rather DIE!

Summoning his strength Axle struggled harder, putting more pressure behind his wings and pushed off with his legs and back.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

Holy hells…if things hadn’t been bad before!

Things had been going fine at first…the man in her lock going down with a bit of a struggle, but nothing she couldn’t handle in his weakened condition as she spoke soothingly to him. In retrospect it was a bit of a useless thing to do, the natural thing to do being to struggle against a captor, but Tango had just felt the need to try and let the man know she wasn’t REALLY trying to hurt him. She’d ignored his plea, and then found herself face to face with…

“Tango?”

Whiskey?

Oh force help her…this was turning into one of her nightmares! What did assassins like Tango dream about? This exact kind of situation…being caught by one of their own while their back was turned. She’d turned and gazed as calmly at Whiskey as she could, attempting to pull herself together and not run off like one of the animals that had gone running when the ship had crashed. That lavender gaze noted the hobble, the way she seemed to be in pain, and part of Tango just didn’t want to leave her hurt like that. This whole thing was twisted! Wrong! Warped! They were supposed to be like sisters, not enemies!

“Do you have medical gear? That one broke one of my ribs and I think my ankle is sprained.”

It was worse than she’d thought…this man was her captive. For a few moments Tango’s mind raced with the possibilities. She could help Whiskey and risk her healing enough to outmatch Tango and take her AND this man to Green Meadows. She could ACT like she was going to help Whiskey and then attempt to overtake her…or she could simply drop any pretenses and take her chances now. Whichever way she chose, she could not risk him being caught again…if she didn’t want to be captured, she couldn’t let him be captured either.

I do have medical gear…but stay where you are until I am done with him. If you move you risk your lung being punctured.

It wasn’t a lie.

Looking down at the man struggling in her arms she feigned tightening her grip on his neck.

Do not make me regret letting your go. I don’t want to kill you, but I will…and play dead if you want to get out of this.

With those muttered words, lips barely moving, she let their meaning soak into his mind before letting go of him roughly so that he might fall in a position where Whiskey wouldn’t see he was still conscious. Stepping toward Whisky, she stopped just in front of her and pulled her pack from her shoulders, lowering it to the ground. Her heart was in her throat as she moved, and she was certain her ‘sister’ would be able to hear it. Now, with her pack off of her and free to move, she stood face to face with Whiskey.

I…am sorry. I cannot risk being taken back.

There was no pause after her words, no warning of what was to come, as she launched herself forward, the heel of her hand coming up toward Whiskey’s chin to set her off kilter from the start. No matter what way she might move to avoid the blow, at the speed Tango was already moving Whiskey would likely find herself having to work hard to keep her footing with that sprained ankle.

[Meira]

This was a strange new feeling. A sense of lightness. She didn't feel as heavy as she felt only moments ago. Was it the atmosphere of this planet? That was an unknown until she found out just exactly where they were. It was a possibility that she was simply feeling the effects of a slightly less than standard gravitational pull. But no, there was something different about this feeling. She'd only became aware of it after recognizing Tango. Yes, the sensation was related to this woman's presence. A certain lightness that wasn't so much physical as mental, a slowing of her heart rate and breathing... this was an emotion... a feeling. But what was the name for this feeling. Whiskey's mind searched methodically for the correct word, following Tango's order to stay still without a second thought.

Relief! That was the name. She was relieved. Suddenly the sensation made much more sense to her. The lightening that she felt could be a physical interpretation of the fact that Whiskey felt less pressure in her mission because she could now share it with her comrade. It was a lightening of the load she carried, in a sense. The slower breathing and heart rate was also obvious. In the presence of a fellow Green Meadows Assassin, she was that much more protected. She could rely on the talents of her ally and combine them with her own. Together they were stronger than alone. That was a lesson they'd all remember from their time on Dxun, one of the few memories they were allowed to keep.

So Whiskey stood still, keeping the majority of her weight on her right foot, allowing the left to rest. She could feel how the blood pulsed in the already swelling joint of her ankle. It was an inconvenience, but by the looks of Axle, she could be much worse. Soon enough Tango had the winged man unconscious on the ground and was turning toward her. Whiskey was already beginning to lift part of her shirt to show the broken rib low in her rib cage. She was sure she'd just need it wrapped up, and then perhaps a splint of sorts for her ankle. The elbow was just bruised, it wouldn't need any attention.

Whiskey was sorting through this mental checklist of her injuries as Tango approached, and so she barely heard what her comrade said before the strike. With no notice at all, Whiskey only managed to turn her head slightly so that the palm of Tango's hand would not strike directly against her chin. The majority of the force of the blow would glance off Whiskey's jaw, but that wouldn't stop the light from popping in Whiskey's eyes as Tango struck. Glanced blow or not, it was still a powerful strike. Whiskey's jaw fell slack for a moment as the momentum of the strike did more than turn her head. Her shoulders followed and Whiskey, unprepared as she was, instinctively shifted some of her weight to her left foot in an attempt to maintain her balance. Unfortunately, her ankle wouldn't take the weight and she lost balance.

Whiskey hit the dirt with a thud, the air escaping her chest in one large huff that sent up dust around her face. With a groan, her fingers dug into the ground as she attempted to raise herself up to hands and knees. She coughed. Falling was definitely not good for that broken rib.

What are you doing? You don't need to render me unconscious. I just need the rib wrapped up and something for the ankle. But if you insist I be unconscious, I would prefer you use the same method as you did on him.

She raised one hand to point toward Axle, but her injured elbow wasn't strong enough to hold her weight and she had to abort the gesture quickly, lest she fall back to the ground again. With another groan, Whiskey transferred the weight she'd been holding with her arm back to her legs and stood back up as best as she could. Now clutching at her broken rib, she held her empty left hand out to Tango. A gesture meant as a re quest for support.

[Latus]

He continued to struggle though the woman holding him gave no indication that she noticed anything unsual. The reactions between the two were unsettling, especially given the circumstances and his wounds. Axle didn't know what else to do so he struggled even harder, the edges of his vision losing their color again as the adrenaline ebbed. His surprise was immeasurable when the woman holding him spoke, speaking of using her medical supplies on him. He paused in his struggling, hauling his wings back to his shoulders as the pain returned. The whispering that seeped into his ears a moment later was also unexpected; the words were caring but firm, the force behind each incredible.

Do not make me regret letting your go. I don’t want to kill you, but I will…and play dead if you want to get out of this.

Glancing back up at Whiskey he watched her eyes, the cold orbs still unchanged even though she was injured almost worse than he. Unable to say or indicate he heard her without giving the trick away Axle slowly allowed his body to go limp and the woman to roll him onto his stomach facing away from his pursuer. She was smart, he had to give her that. Plus if his thoughts about Whiskey being messed with were true, well then this one was no ordinary woman either. He would have to be wary. The sound of rapid movement and the striking of a soft surface followed by a groan or pain and Whiskey's voice still so calm made him grin. This woman, this Tango, was throwing punches! That could only mean one thing, and her own voice confirmed it.

I…am sorry. I cannot risk being taken back.

Maybe he could put more trust in her after all. Groaning as the ache slowly returned to his limbs, Axle relaxed on the ground, his eyes sliding shut. The lack of blood was starting to mess with his head again with the lack of adrenaline. Suddenly he was tired... so tired.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

It seemed the boy had heard her, the odd pressure against her stomach and chest relaxing away slightly. She hadn’t had time to ponder just what it was pressing against her in such away, she had needed to think and act fast. It wasn’t a time to go questioning things. Either way, slowly he’d let himself go limp. Smart…very smart. Maybe she wouldn’t have to worry so much about what this one might do.

Good, the strike had done its job, Whiskey was down. A pang of guilt echoed through the lavender eyed woman’s heart, however, as Tango watched her groan and attempted to get up again. Well, at least Whiskey was giving her an easy out…better for all involved really, since the boy didn’t look to be doing to…wait, wings? No…she had no time to even think about that. Slipping around behind her former comrade, Tango looped her arm around Whiskey’s neck, putting that gentle pressure on to force the woman into unconsciousness.

I do insist, Whiskey. I'm very…very sorry. I’ll explain later, I promise.

It wasn’t the way she wanted things to go, but Tango found herself without a choice in the matter. She just couldn’t be caught. Leaning back, she allowed her form to take the majority of both her own and Whiskey’s weight without putting too much pressure on that broken rib or sprained ankle. The less damage done, the better she’d feel about the whole thing. Lavender eyes flickered over to the boy on the ground, his breathing a bit more shallow than she’d have liked, her mind urging him to stay awake. As Whiskey went limp in her hold, Tango slowly lowered the woman to the ground, careful not to damage her any further. She was working on borrowed time now, so she would have to hurry with the boy.

With Whiskey safely unconscious and on the ground, Tango loosed her, trotted past her pack, grabbing it along the way, and dropped to a knee beside the bleeding teen. Pulling out her med-kit, she carefully tried to move him into a better position (hopefully onto his back), without jostling his…wings….and making the laceration on right one bleed worse. The first order of business was to stem the bleeding from the wing so she could work on his head. Antiseptic was applied and gauze pressed into it and held down with a measure of medical tape to keep the pressure on.

Keep awake. Eyes open. What’s your name?

A swift click and a small pen light would shine into his eyes as she watched the dilation of them. Mildly pleased to see the response time was decent, she dropped the light back into her kit and moved on. She tilted his head to the side slightly with one hand, grabbing her canteen with the other and opening it with her teeth. Shielding his eyes from the liquid as she let his head rest against her thigh, she poured some of it along his hairline to clean the blood away and see what she was working with. It was a nice cut he’d gotten, but nothing some antibacterial gel and a ‘butterfly stitch’ wouldn’t cure…it wasn’t even that large. Checking further into his hair along the same area to be sure it wasn’t longer than she thought, she was pleased to find it wasn’t. The gel was applied, along with a few drops of kolto, the skin held together with one hand and the proper bandage applied. One injury down.

You still with me? Can you tell me if anything is broken?

Pulling out another pouch from her kit, she unzipped it and pulled out the suture pack, readying the contents.

I need to stitch your wing. I only have topical anesthetic, but it should work well enough…as a warning this may be a bit uncomfortable.

Again that canteen came to hand and she pulled the gauze and tape off as carefully as she could before pouring the water into the wound to flush it once more before applying the gel needed to anesthetize the area. Carefully applying the gel, she was forced to wait until it could take effect before starting to stitch the wing back together. Glancing over her shoulder at Whiskey a heavy sigh escaped her and she shook her head before turning back to what she was supposed to be doing. At least she was still unconscious. By the time Tango had finished stitching and bandaging the wing as best she could, she knew she couldn’t take the risk of Whiskey waking up.

Try not to move around too much. I need to see if there’s a place I can lock her up.

Shifting him off of her lap again, Tango put her kit back together and shut it, setting it (and her pack) down several feet away from both parties before going to search the ship. There was a cage, of sorts, inside…a bit banged up, the lock looked broken, but it would have to do. Coming back outside carefully, she heaved another sigh and got ready for the task of trying to get Whiskey back into the ship and locked up…without injuring her further.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

((due to extended stagnation of this thread...I'm starting a new one with Axle))