A Bit of Muscle [Alna]

[Sarge Potteiger]

Corellia
Coronet Starport

There wasn't much to say about today. It was, well, boring. Sunny, beautiful, but boring. Why was it so boring? Well, it was just one of those days where everyone, in one of those strange hive mind moments human society sometimes had, had decided to make themselves generally scarce.

Which, frankly, didn't sit too well with the Sergeant Major. Now, anyone who knew Sarge knew that a bored Sarge was one of the most dangerous things on any planet. Mostly because, like any warrior with time off, he made his own fun. Breaking into buildings, drinking, gambling, etc.

But none of that was on his agenda today. Today he was looking for transportation. Transportation to anywhere, really. He had an OmegaPyre I-One that he flew, but its cockpit was cramped, and he needed something to haul it and him that had enough room for leg stretching.

So here he was, outside the starport looking at all the ships which were sitting around. Usually if someone wanted passengers or needed to sell goods, they set up shop outside their hangars. It was as good a place as any, no?

Most paid him no mind, because he paid them no mind. Clad in black carapace armor pieces over black cloth, his half glimpsed frame moved between pedestrians with an effortless grace. At times, parts of him would disappear as his camo-cape shifted to meld with his surroundings. Said cape was also wrapped around his shoulders in such a way as to make himself a hood, obscuring his face with shadow.

Eyes glimpsing the hulking frame of an old, battered Wayfarer, he made his way towards if, making sure he was at least mostly visible aside from his face. It was a perfect ship, and hopefully it had a decent enough captain.

The cargo bay door was open, but no one sat outside. Gaze narrowing, he cloaked himself entirely and stepped inside, boots making not a single sound. He had gone from being a civilian to a ghost in less than second.

"Anyone home...?", he asks, voice carrying easily.

 

[Alndys]

For a heartbeat, there was no reply. Then, somewhere off in the cavernous, dark depths of the cargo bay, something metal fell of a shelf and clattered loudly across the floor. A boxy repair droid chirped apologetically, but that wouldn't save it. "Told you... stay STILL!" A woman's voice barked, followed by the hollow 'thud' of a heavy boot hitting the side of the offending droid.

With a noisome 'clack', the cargo bay's bright lights came on via remote control and Alndys D'Lessio turned her attention towards the voice that had startled her so badly. A tall woman clad in a garish mixture of what had once been three sets of body armor and utility harness, with a half-disassembled repair droid at her feet, Alndys leveled a heavy blaster at the still-open bay doors and narrowed her eyes at... well, nothing. She'd clearly heard someone come aboard, so this was a little troubling. Either she was losing her grip, or her mysterious company was invisible. Neither were good.
"Hello?" The Salvager with the mocha skin called out in an even alto, shifting her footing slightly - just in case she needed to leap to one side, or brace for a sudden hit. Imperceptible to most races were the dozens of instinctive, minuscule motions that served as deliberate communication among her people - the odd set of a jaw, her right fingers squeezing the grip of her rifle as though uncomfortable. Not that she expected another Lorrdian aboard her ship, or anywhere near Corellia, but old habits died hard and one never really forgot her native 'tongue'.
The inside of Alna's Wayfarer (or, rather, the cargo bay as far as Sarge could see) was a carefully controlled mess. The rear portions of the spacious interior were covered with shelving and toolboxes, each piled with bits and pieces of ships, droids, weapons, and random pieces of other things she'd found floating in space and deemed worth trying to sell. The heaviest among these shelves were on wheels, presumably so they could be moved around the cargo bay or out of the ship for display. Of the ten droids or so that shored up the shelving and boxes, at a glance? Maybe one or two could function. In the middle of the bay was what remained of what might have - long ago - been a stylish speeder. Now, however, it was a heartbreaking pile of eggshell white metal and chrome, wires and glass. The remainder - which spoke for a considerable amount of space - was empty aside from some oil stains and a loose screw or two. Plenty of room for a, OS-I1 Ranger or two. Maybe even three.
"In case there's anyone here - you should know this blaster doesn't have a 'stun' setting." Alna warned in growl, brushing a couple of her many, many braids away from her sweat-stained and mildly dirty face. "So, fair warning." She'd never killed a person before, and point of fact the blaster ONLY had a 'stun' setting, but her maybe-visitor didn't need to know that if he couldn't read Lorrdian.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"You're lying." Came an amused response, the voice coming from the middle of the gaping cargo bay opening. "Although you get credit for at least making it believable. That make only fires stun unless you've got it modified, which, judging by how much I startled you... you haven't."

There was the kind of throaty chuckle one would expect from someone finding themselves in a more advantageous position. Pulling his hood down, a disembodied head came into view. A beard, bushy and brown, sat thickly upon his jawline. His right cheek had been pockmarked by shrapnel, but rounded features took a few years off him, despite sizable bags beneath his eyes and a slight downward cast to his lips.

"You should know better than to leave the door open.", he adds with a smirk. "You'll have to pardon my interruption," he continues, "but I wanted to make sure no one was stealing anything." She'd have no body language to read, other than his face, and his face said that was more than likely true.

 

[Alndys]

Alna narrowed her eyes, bothered by the fact that she could only see his head - not that it disturbed her, or the technology frightened her, but it felt like she was missing half of what he was saying. "A man with personal cloaking technology comes onto my ship, to look for thieves... right." She appraised, lowering her likely useless rifle. Canting her head to one side, the tall woman sized up the floating head before her, then set the rifle down on the wriggling feet of the repair droid she'd been working on. The droid wisely played dead.
"I'm a little skeptical of that story." Alna pointed out dryly, putting her hands on her hips. Her posture was as much a command to her shipboard computer as a spoken word could be - the door to the cargo bay clanged shut noisily. It was a cheap little trick she'd used to confuse Outer Rim bumpkins from time to time; the ones who couldn't differentiate between magic, the Force, and a little trickery. "Guys with personal cloak fields don't come to shake down floating junkyards like mine, unless I got something they want." She said with a flat look, glaring down her nose at the floating head. "So, out with it. Unless you're with the Omega, because I paid my duty tax when I left New Plympto. I broke NO laws."
Sneaky guys - whether they worked for the government or killed people illegally for a living - all thrived on the same thing. Control. Surprise. They got the jump on you, and then tried their best to keep widening that margin. From the best assassin in the land, to an eight year old pickpocket. And unless you were sure you couldn't handle them, you had to deny them that control. Bluff, pose, put up a strong front, do whatever you had to to keep the advantage. Nobody shook down Alndys D'Lessio and got away with it.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The man was entirely unperturbed by the showmanship, and merely smiled without amusement at her. It was a political smile, one that held more daggers than laughs. "I don't much care whether you believe me or not.", he says matter-of-factly.

"Doesn't make it any less true."

Shrugging his shoulders, the front of his cape pulled back to merely cover his back, and like that his black armored form, compactly muscled, stood before her. The sleeves had been rolled up, revealing dirty, scarred forearms.

But, more importantly, he had the OmegaPyre Sergeant Major rank tabs on his uniform. "I'm not here about taxes. I'm here about transportation. A mutually beneficial arrangement, if you will. I'd ask if you're interested, but the answer would likely be a cautious 'what kind of deal', no?"

This time, the smile was most certainly a humored one. "You give me some room in here for my fighter, a bed, some food, that's it. I provide security - in space and onboard."
As for my destination... anywhere, really. I don't have one yet."

 

[Alndys]

Oh. He wasn't so much a sneaky guy, as a guy who was in this case, sneaky. His arms looked as big around as her neck! He'd been less intimidating when he'd been a floating head and disembodied voice. Alna shifted her posture slightly, folding her arms as she sized the man in black armor up once again - reading his confident body language, the ease in which he moved about in his armor. He wasn't on the run and he hadn't been recently exerting himself, as best she could tell. "Transportation? You're Omega. You run this sector." She pointed out. Not that it was complaint - it meant that she likely wouldn't have an armed tail looking to get after her cargo. Unless he was going AWOL and stealing a ship for good measure.
The deal reeked of bad business, but good credit. And those were usually the payoffs that Alna avoided, as she could tolerate being a little broke if it meant she got to keep every part of her body intact. Unfortunately, she'd spent a little too much time on the broke side. She peeled her thick gloves off and wiggled her fingers as though stretching them or airing them out - it was a mildly flirtatious, mostly friendly gesture in her own language, indicating an invitation. Translations didn't always work well. "Come on in. We'll have a cold drink, and talk numbers." Alndys invited, striding off towards the ship's small canteen. "Carrying the ship pays for the protection - security for my ship is security for your own stuff." She explained, pulling two brews out of the cooler. She'd bought a fair bit to replenish her stores when she'd landed, a small luxury. "Room & Board is going to cost a bit more. You're a... well, rather large fellow." Alna explained, though she may as well have said 'you look like you've got a lot of credit'.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"We do run this sector, but I ain't your typical Sergeant Major. I've free roam until called upon." Entirely true. But he couldn't tell her that he'd been the Exarchs personal wetwork operative for the past couple centuries. One, she wouldn't believe him. Two, she'd be less inclined to deal cause, well, assassin.

He nodded momentarily, looking around, getting a feel for the place. Rotating his body around, she'd catch a glimpse of the sheath for his thirty centimeter bayonet on the left side of his belt. An ancient DC-15A with a shortened barrel was half-glimpsed on his back.

Perhaps most surprisingly, he didn't make a noise.

Not a single one.

He was as quiet as death. And perhaps that's what he was. It was certainly apart of his job.

Snorting, he gave a throaty chuckle at her remark. "Not large enough to make things impossible." He replies, noting he didn't have to duck under much around here, thankfully. He was right at that in between height where he was tall, and could hit his head on some things, but he wasn't tall enough to really stand out.

The shoulders had simply never been a problem.

And then they were in the canteen. He'd not seen a single crew member yet.

 

[Alndys]

And nor would he see a crew member - Alna's boat was large, but it was a deceptive sort of large. It'd been designed to jettison sixty percent of itself if it needed to, like any other Wayfarer-class. A pair of small droids bustled about erratically, going about the impossible task of cleaning the old floors, but they were hardly unusual in an ship larger than a two-seater. Alna slid one brew across the table in the middle of the canteen to Sarge, settling her lanky frame opposite. Where he was silent, she was noisy - each step of her heavy leather boots clanked through the ship. The countless little tools and trinkets attatched to her patchwork armor jingled and jangled with Alna's movements. There were a few charms woven into her many braids that occasionally clattered against her welding goggles or each other when her head moved. And she was frequently moving. Even at rest in her wide chair, Alna's foot tapped incessantly against the metal flooring, providing a heated tempo to a casual conversation.

"If you're on the ship, you work." Alna said simply as her fingers picked absently at the raised logo on her planet-brewed beer. Corellians had the good stuff, nice and stout without kicking you in the teeth too much. "...if you don't work, you pay. Now, you seem like a strong guy - if you can handle a welder and a hammer, and you don't bring trouble down on my head, I'll take you anywhere you need to go. Even if that's nowhere." She promised, glancing repeatedly at Sarge's hands and arms. "I'm good at nowhere. Spend most of my time there."

The Wayfarer's canteen was spacious - the table clearly had seating for maybe as many as eight people, the kitchen was large enough to cook for them. The hallway to the left, towards the cockpit, had enough small doors on either side for those eight people - more if some of the bunked up together. But from what an observant person would be able to glean, there was only one active crew member on this ship... the tall, dark-skinned woman across Sarge at the table. Her bootprints, outlined in oil, were the only bootprints leading in and out of the cargo hold, and some of those stains were years old. The jackets across the back of some of the chairs were all one woman's size, and of similar fashions. A dozens of other hints and clues spoke to this truth.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Her foot tapped, but his hands kept moving. Clench, unclench. The calloused hands simply had a hard time staying still for long. Whether or not that was good for her or otherwise had yet to be seen. Idle hands weren't always a good thing.

Raising an eyebrow at her momentarily, he follows her gaze. Yeah, these arms will use a hammer pretty well. It was an amusing thought, but it was all business with her. He could respect that, although he found business-women came in the most peculiar varieties.

Some were absurdly professional, but warm. Others were cold. Her...? He wasn't sure, yet. He'd not deal with a Lorrdian before. "Sounds like a deal to me.", he says with a genial grin, a rough palm extending to you.

He ignored the fact it would just be her and him. He wondered if only having droids around was something she preferred, or if it was something she just happened to find her way into.

 

[Alndys]

Alna glanced at his calloused hand - noting the splay of the individual fingers, the angles at which the flanges met knuckles. Had he really meant to say that? No. He was Human, or close enough to be human that the distinction didn't matter. And he certainly wasn't Lorrdian, or this conversation would have been over awhile ago. She carefully shook his hand, taking special care to be firm enough to suggest respect without being overly aggressive, shifting her seating slightly to appear more welcoming. "Good to hear - and welcome aboard." Alndys said with a professional smile, laying her hands flat on the table once shaking was done. "I'm Alndys D'Lessio, I usually go by 'Alna'. The ship is controlled mainly in my native language, so unless you speak it, I wouldn't recommend trying to hijack me." She explained matter-of-factly. Did he need to know what that native language was? No. Did she want him to believe it was spoken? Yes. It wasn't a threat she aimed to deliver, so much as a simple warning and a display that she was not harmless nor witless.

"We'll be going off-planet in a few hours, I got a good lead on some choice wreckage out by Eriadu. Some battle out there nobody bothered to clean up after." Alna said with a small smirk, pulling herself back up onto her feet. Braids, charms and tools jingled merrily. "Once your ship is on board and you're settled in, we'll have some supper and break orbit." She explained, once introductions were through. "...I like to splurge when I'm on planet. Fresh Murra steaks. You chose a lucky port to jump on."

Alna could be friendly. She wanted to be friendly. She hadn't had company on the ship in some time, and although other people weren't something she NEEDED to complete her life, it was pleasant to have somebody to talk to who wasn't a droid or a customer. Although Alna was determined to keep her wits about her, just in case, she wanted to believe that the man in the silent black armor was as on-the-level as she was being.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

His grip was sure, if restrained, and she would probably glean all sorts of information from that. Given the parlor tricks outside, he imagined the language was nonverbal. Possibly telepathic, but he was leaning more towards body language. He'd heard of a near-Human species that used that.

It would explain the constant attention on his hands, since he highly doubted she found them attractive or otherwise captivating. He'd been at Eriadu. Blown up a bridge. And then the battle had been over.

"I'll go grab the Ranger and be back in a little." Flashy a faint toothy grin, the wraith stood, dipping his head at her in a mixture of respect and brief farewell. "By the by," he begins as he wraps his cloak around him again.

"Name's Sarge."

If you knew OmegaPyre. You knew Sarge. He hasn't stayed secret for long. The Prex's personal bodyguard, it was rumored. Not really true, but rumor was never wholly true. Most agreed on one thing, though. He wasn't natural.

Not natural man moved with that effortless a silence. "I'll bring some Whyren's Reserve with me when I return."

He disappeared, a whisper in the dark.

And as he said, he was back shortly thereafter, the interceptor making its presence known by the sonic boom that tailed him coming in over the starport. Apparently he knew how to be loud, too. But he'd warned her he was coming.

Hooking around and into a short roll to bleed off speed, he banked, and brought himself in towards where her vessel sat, flaps up to slow him as fast as possible. Next thing he knew, he was coasting in, and he turned off the engines.

Repulsorlifts kicked in, and now he was using a very aggressive looking speeder to maneuver into her cargo bay. Most people ignored the fighter. OP was typical around here for obvious reasons.

 

[Alndys]

Like any good drifter, Alna was pretty good at keeping her ear to the ground. Information, in the right place, could be more useful than a blaster rifle. As such, she knew a bit about Omega - and she'd heard of Sarge. A million different rumors, likely none of them true, but there was a grain of truth in everything. As nervous as having a spook on her crew made her, having a high profile spook was even worse. Too late to back out now, though. Not if she wanted to keep friendly business and her good name in Omega space. If Sarge was casually bringing a bottle of Whyren's Reserve to celebrate a routine transit and labor job, chances were he had enough cred stashed away to buy a new ship big enough to carry his new ship - or enough pull with the Omega to get one on loan. His motives were now a mystery. Alna hated mystery almost as much as she hated surprises.

Alna put her half-emptied bottle of brew back in the cold box, then went to the spacious cockpit to make a few adjustments - namely, reminding the computer to account for the extra weight about to be brought on board, and the extra passenger breathing and eating. Stupid things that the ship likely took into account automatically, but it was a subroutine she'd never really trusted. When Sarge returned with his fancy ship, Alndys paid it no mind until the vibration from the speeder hit the floor in the cargo hold. The star port was noisy, and that included her own workshop.

She'd been busily taking a saw to the pile of half-restored speeder Sarge had seen on his way in, trying to get as many square meters of alloy out of the hull as possible. At least Alna had been gracious enough to tug the mess back a bit so there would be plenty of room for the Ranger - she'd even left out straps and clamps to secure it, just in case Sarge wanted the use of them. A part of her had been trying to be nice, the rest of her didn't want his ship slamming around and breaking all of her tools and stuff if the gravity failed. And it sometimes did fail.

As Sarge tugged the sleek fighter into it's polar opposite, Alna gave a low whistle of appreciation as she lifted her safety glasses. Even if she spent her days pulling apart things that had once been nice, she knew good hardware when she saw it. If that'd been HER fighter, she'd be living off the profits for years. Maybe the rest of her life! "That's a beautiful machine you got there." Alna complimented, leaning her backside against the half-dissected speeder tragedy. She took her goggles and gloves off, shaking the bits of sharded metal out of her hair - a sign that she was done working for the day.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The bubble cockpit of the diamond wing fighter lifted and he threw himself over the edge and to the ground. There was barely a whisper of noise as boots hit deck, and he immediately set about securing the fighter; just in case.


Giving everything a few final tugs so that he was sure there'd be no movement, he reaches into the cockpit and pulls out the promised bottle. Shaking it slightly, he smiles to himself. He, admittedly, had a bit of an alcohol problem.

For reasons he didn't understand, it didn't affect him much. A whole bottle might give him a buzz. "Indeed she is. Something about diamond-wings get me going." He shrugged, a hand running reverently along the smooth metal hull.

It was painted the color of space, a void among the void, and lacked any emblem. It was a solid color ship, designed to maximize its minimal stealth potential. The man didn't take chances with being discovered early.

"Thank you for leaving this stuff out. I take it you're done working for now?"

 

[Alndys]

"For the time being. Might finish up this heap once I've had some chow and a rest." Alna admitted honestly, clanking her heavy boot against the cut-up hull of the speeder. At least the man had manners, that was something. She brushed some of the powderized metal from her trousers, strode to the entrance of the cargo bay, and manually flipped the switch that closed the cargo bay. No need for the parlor trick again. Not at this moment. "Did some good work today - sold some power couplings I've been trying to offload for three planets. Solid profit. I don't feel bad about leaving Corellia." Alndys explained as she left the cargo hold, acting under the assumption that Sarge would follow her into the attached canteen.

"Pretty standard rules - pick any of the quarters you want, save for the two at the front. One is mine, one has some of my stuff in it." She explained. On the small electric oven, a few Murra steaks cooked merrily away, occasionally turned over by a battered-looking and archaic protocol droid with shuddering movements, standing over the stove like a dutiful but dying butler. It'd likely come with the ship. "Free use of the canteen. Shower behind that door." She explained, motioning across the canteen to the wall opposite the cargo bay. "That's Ar-Jay Seven. He doesn't do much, and he can't talk. Just about all he's good for is cooking, so be nice." Alna explained offhandedly, washing her filthy hands off in the sink near the droid - a day's work in cutting metal, working machinery, down the drain. Seeing her dark skin cleaned of all that grime was always a cathartic experience that she looked forward to at the end of each 'day'. The only thing that beat it was a shower. Drying her hands off with an old rag, the lanky, tall Lorrdian made for the cockpit so she could take them up and out of the starport.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Sounds like as good a day as any.", he responds conversationally, indeed following after her and allowing himself a moment to admire the away of her hips. Not a sexual thought came to mind, and his attention was elsewhere a moment or two later, but he sometimes found himself admiring the female form.

Looking to the droid as they entered the mess, he couldn't help but smirk at how old it was. Old wasn't always bad, especially when it came to droids and their programming. The older ones often outdid newer ones for some reason or another.

"I'll try not to harass him too much." A raising of his brows indicated it had never been apart of the plan to begin with, but that he understand what she'd been asking. She made for the cockpit and he set himself down, pouring two glasses of whiskey and setting one opposite him.

He took a deep gulp of his own and closed his eyes, savoring the burn and gut punch of the drink. They'd be in orbit in no time, and he'd be alone again... mostly.

How he hated people.

 

[Alndys]

In a couple practiced motions, Alna engaged the already-primed engines and lifted the groaning Wayfarer out of the Corellia starport. It banked slightly to one side, curving upwards in a lazy spiral that the artificial gravity negated for the crew, before Alna released the controls to the mercy of the autopilot. With a relieved sigh, she directed the ship to ascend backwards, so that they could watch the city disappear underneath them. Putting her feet up on the dash, she leaned back in the worn leather chair and finally picked up the glass Sarge had so thoughtfully poured. A moment to sniff, another to sip. She did not cough or cringe, but did blink in surprise. That was some whiskey.

She glanced over at her new co-pilot and nodded an unspoken approval and thanks, toasting him slightly before she took another sip. She was comfortable not speaking. In fact, by and large, she preferred it. Sarge would likely come to learn this. Crossing one ankle over the other, leaning back in her seat, Alna let one arm hang lazily behind her head while the other held the glass of powerful, exotic whiskey in her lap - the clean glass contrasted and reflected the worn canvas workpants she'd worn thin and stained.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The man merely kept his eyes closed, seeing nothing of the world around him. Periodically, his hand would ritualistically lift the glass to his lips like a holy grail of mystic healing, and then it would be lowered gently back to his lap.

Between the booze and smell of cooking meat... he did the unexpected.

He passed right the kark out.

 

[Alndys]

Alna noted that her newfound crew seemed to have passed out. The slowing of breath, slight relaxing of muscles, all signs. Either he'd fallen asleep, or he was a skilled faker. She chose to believe the former, and once they'd broken atmo, she left him there to doze while she quietly padded off. Corellia was fading out of sight, her glass was empty. Basically, the show was over, and the Whyren's Reserve was expensive enough that Alna wasn't about to pour herself a fresh glass while Sarge slept.

Having a man sleeping in her cockpit was something of a novelty, sure, but it wasn't about to stop a woman like Alndys D'lessio from going about her 'nightly' routine. She took a quick, scalding-hot shower to clean the grime, dust, and scent of the starport off of her skin and out of her hair. She changed into fresh clothes: a baggy pair of dark slacks that flowed and fluttered around her legs when she walked, and a bright yellow sleeveless shirt. Shoeless. Just the thing for relaxing after a hard day. Clean and fresh, she took a minute to record the day's expenditures and sales in her ledger, before checking up on RJ-7's progress.

The dutiful droid had finished cooking, even going so far as to serve the meal onto the proper plates. Murra steaks, hearty rice, and some kind of sweet native Corellian vegetable Alna had been meaning to try for ages. A good meal went a long way towards setting a good impression with her tenant, whom Alndys was fairly sure could kill her and take her ship with little consequences. While she'd chosen to believe he was on-the-level and not hostile, that did not mean she wouldn't take the opportunity to hedge her bets a bit.

It was a fair bit later before Alndys returned to the cockpit with a plate in either hand, a water bottle under her arm. She sat in her own chair and nudged Sarge's shoulder with his plate. After all, who didn't like being woken up to food prepared for them? "Chow. You can take it to your bunk if you're that tired." Alna offered. Reheating food was a tragedy, better to eat it fresh.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

She went about her business, and Sarge kept on sleeping. It was far from a fit sleep, and he routinely twitched in his slumber, but it was a rest of sorts. Just not a very good one. He was out until she made a cardinal mistake.

She touched him when it wasn't expected.

No sooner had the plate tapped his shoulder then there was the sound of metal sliding across hardened meshweave as his pistol was pulled from its holster, pointed at her, in the time it took him to open his eyes.

"Feth.", he breathes out, sliding the weapon away. "How long have I been out...?", he asks, sitting up a bit stiffly and eyeing the food with some hunger. "Mm, bunk sounds good." His voice was far more of a grumpy rumble now.

Definitely not a morning person.

 

[Alndys]

Alna barely had time to reach for her own blaster, left on the 'dashboard' of the ship, and certianly not enough time to grip it before Sarge had his levelled at her. Her own plate had clattered out of her hand to do this, spilling out over the floor of the cockpit. Mouse droids scurried merrily to clean the mess, as Alna tried to gather her wits and catch her breath. That close - she'd been that close to getting her head blown off, all in the blink of an eye. Once Sarge had taken his plate, she wordlessly stood and left the cockpit, securing her gunbelt belt around her waist. Just in case. Better to collect herself before she spoke to him again, evaluate if it was worth having him on board if his reflexes were such that he might end up killing her without even knowing.