Duel All the birds are singing that you're gonna die - OPEN to the first person who posts

[Azel Moran]

By pure luck, the commuter shuttle was carrying only two passengers when it collided with an unmarked rock. The pilot died instantly.

There would be search and rescue efforts on the way, no doubt about it. But this far from a major port, they would take a while.

Both the backup and emergency atmosphere systems were offline. Air quality and pressure were both dropping, thanks to smoke and a leak. And there was exactly one breath mask.

Azel wanted that breath mask more than he wanted headache meds and a nice Twi'lek.

 

[Vella Forte]

It was all Vella could do not to scream, and preserve her energies. She hated space travel. It was just her fortune that the one time she'd elected not to travel on an empirical cruiser, it went to poodoo.

In her seat, she gripped the crash webbing with strength that made her knuckles pale beneath the gloves. Desperation and adrenaline imbued her reactions. She could have cared less about the pilot, he deserved to die for such shoddy work, but she did care about herself. Self preservation above all else meant that she'd have to move quickly, since Azel Moran seemed to be on the go as well.

Swiftly, she heaved herself from the webbing once the ship stopped rocking and smoking, staggering in the direction of the replacement mask. "Watch it old man," she growled as she ship shifted slightly with the movement of it's only passengers. "That's mine."

 

[Azel Moran]

Azel coughed and kept coughing. In lieu of words - unable to speak - he flipped the other passenger the proverbial bird. He unbuckled his crash harness and stumbled toward the mask. Being a large man tended to solve most problems. Being a Dark Jedi with a taste for blades tended to take care of the rest.

But his hammer, knife, everything he'd have used in a tense situation -- it was all in the luggage compartment. And that was just the bare minimum he could get through security.

Also the passenger seemed unimpressed by him, and quick on her feet. Neither was a good sign.

He gestured again, not at her this time. The mask and its air tank ripped themselves from their case and flew toward him. They would pass over a row of seats maybe two metres outside the reach of Vella Forte .

 

[Vella Forte]

Didn't take a scientist to recognize The Force. Actually, it would probably take anybody but a scientist -- due to the realms of plausible deniability and all that hullabaloo. Seeing Azel Moran put it to action now was not a good sign. Karking heck.

When the brute reached out and called the last object that could keep either of them alive to his will, she partly regretted starting this out with an insult. Her head was pounding, which made focusing on the mystical difficult and not an option. She made it her sole intention to leap forward and intercept the trajectory of the mask, which was working out pretty well, like within-finger-tip-reach-well until the artificial gravity let up and she felt incredibly bouyant while starting to lift. Her body started to angle above the rows of seats, and she clambered to grip to one of the headrests so she didn't end up stuck to the ceiling.

Kark.

 

[Azel Moran]

Azel felt the artificial gravity's demise in three primary ways: A sudden ease in his legs, reminding him of years when he'd weighed considerably less; a gentle but startling impact from a seat pad, sufficient to throw off his focus; and a loosening in his bowels. Nothing critical, but unpleasant. He farted gently and found the expulsion lifted him infinitesimally off the deck. With the life support down, little moments like that could add up to actual danger.

But now was not a moment for digestive distress. Now was a moment for escalation. Because not only was Vella Forte quick and agile, she took his Force demonstration with unsettling aplomb.

The mask and air tank were still drifting toward him, albeit not quickly. He squeezed out of his row -- transit designers persisted in making them too small for men of his stature -- and propelled himself over the tops of the seats to meet them.

 

[Vella Forte]

Time is on my side.
​

It was always the silent ones that were particularly deadly. With no reliable air flow, Vella found a rather unpleasant smell assault her nostrils. She furrowed her brow and glared at the giant man. The air was too precious to sully. How ridiculous.

Where Azel Moran had misfortune with size, the Vahl descendent had otherwise. The zero-g in the ship made it feel like she was swimming in an artificial environment, and after a few disorienting rotations, she managed to right herself and use her arms to propel herself forward to continue intercepting the oxygen aid.

The crash webbing of the seats lifted, and swayed to and fro' above the seats like seaweed in a current. It tickled against her legs as she kicked forward, taking small breaths and trying to be calculated with her exertions. The smaller her movements, the more preserved her energy would be.

Aha! Finally her fingertips touched the heaviness of the airtank. She was cautious not to get too excited, and accidentally poke it away. Her toes struck against the top of a seat and she used it to temporarily suspend herself while grappling with the base of the tank.

Meanwhile, the string attached to the airmask continued to twist about and away, barely tethered to the tank itself. Even when Vella yanked on the tank, it did little to tame the rogue mask.

 

[Azel Moran]

Azel got a grip on the top of a seat and stabilized himself as best he could. He noted with some alarm that Vella Forte had the air tank in hand. That limited his options. Lightning, a Force push, physical strength -- it could all damage the tank. Or the mask, or the vulnerable hose that connected them.

He hacked a cough and pulled the mask to his hand. He couldn't fit it to his face without losing stability and getting too close for comfort. And he couldn't yank the tank away without damaging the hose.

A simple Force choke came to mind as the best option that didn't risk the tank. Bracing himself with feet and knees, Azel brought up his other hand and made the universal sign for 'I'm choking you telekinetically.'

 

[Vella Forte]

This was all too inconvenient. What sort of citizen transport only had one breath mask. When the fellow got the better end of the stick, Vella became far more precious of her end, tightening her grip while trying to tug it more toward her. The slackness of the rope became dangerously taut with Azel Moran's triumph over the mask itself. She growled involuntarily before she sputter-coughed with surprise.

Her airway became threateningly restricted, and she gasped. The air she had been trying so carefully to preserve was all the more difficult to inhale. Her larynx tightened at the orchestration of maestro Moran, and she grimaced with a dark realization while little technicoloured spots started to dance in her vision.

He was very likely only doing this to get the tank from her grip, and would let go of her precious airway once she gave the air supply up to him. There was a limited percentage in that reality. She could counter him with The Force of her own, but she wasn't particularly good at anything but telekinetic augmentation or blows -- and that could tear the tube connecting the tank to the mask. What a plight!

Struggling to act, Vella's fingers trembled at the top of the tank, where the seal met its O-ring fastener. With a definitive twist, she loosened it threateningly, glowering as much as she could threaten to the massive man. The hisssssss of air indicating that she was willing to sacrifice this tank for her own throat. Or at least put new odds on the table, rather than him calling all the shots.

"Let...me.....go.." she choked out, barely able to get the words out while floating limply above the uninhabited chairs.

 

[Azel Moran]

Vella Forte had guts. In any other circumstance he'd have admired her willingness to gamble with her own survival. And more than that, she had the ability to think under pressure, precisely and accurately. She'd put herself in a situation where a twitch of her fingers would doom them both. He let go of her throat in his mind's eye.

"Impressive." He farted uncomfortably. "Most impressive. You win this round."

He let go of the mask to let her reel it in.

 

[Vella Forte]

Wasting no time, Vella hastily resealed the valve when the mask was released for her. Victorious, she gave a gentle tug to redirect the trajectory of the mask’s float before she was able to press it to her face. Cradling the tank with one arm, and pressing the mask over her nose and mouth with the other, she reassessed the other passenger with a glower.

The oxygen was almost sweet. But she was transfixed on the suggestion of a round. They still had to get off this ship. And he had the Force blows. She’d need him to open some doors perhaps.
With some reservation, she withdrew the mask, her lungs filled. Still clutching the tank, she gave the mask a gentle flick to send it back to Azel Moran. “We can share. Before round two. Can you get us out of here?”

She dare not relinquish control of the air tank, though -- or this whole struggle would be for nought on her part.

 

[Azel Moran]

After a silence that seemed like weeks, Azel eyed Vella Forte with a mixture of respect and dislike. He accepted the mask and breathed deeply. Clean air filled his lungs.

"I could vent us into space. Otherwise, no."

There were, of course, meditative techniques that could slow breathing, but like feth was he going into a helpless trance.

"The Force is with you. What do you do?" He took a final breath and sent the mask back. That tank and its fragile hose were firmly in her grasp. Maybe he could give her an aneurysm or something.

 

[Vella Forte]

Right. The vacuum of space. This was just an asteroid. Kriffing karking fether of a pilot. When the mask returned, and only then, did she turn her focus to her wrist to trigger a distress beacon, an inquisitor of The Sith Empire was requesting aid. She wasn't sure how helpful it would be, but it was better than sharing an air tank forever with some massive guy with lungs the size of her face. She'd likely not continue, given the desperateness of the situation and self preservation was at the fore of both minds.

Ruby eyes assessed him physically, although that third eye -- the one fuelled by Vahl -- sought to weigh Azel Moran for his own fortitude in the metaphysical. He didn't permeate anything revolting like that disgusting light. And no more permeating revolting trouser burps.

There was a silence between them while she too focused on preserving her air. She'd keep the response short.

"Inquisitor for The Empire.

And you?"

 

[Azel Moran]

Vella Forte

Given the preciousness of air, he switched to the Force. An Inquisitor would have at least some skill at touching minds.

<I meant if you have any relevant techniques or talents. If you want that air tank hammered into a blade that can survive a reactor core, I can do it. Otherwise, not the most useful skillset at the moment.> His head tilted. <Though actually, I could do something about the leak. Not the air quality, but the pressure. Keep us from freezing, anyway.>

Metal started groaning. Hissing noises started dying off.

<My turn with the mask, Inquisitor.>

 

[Vella Forte]

It was always strange when someone touched your mind with dialogue. There were things she'd learned to resist such intrusions, but it seemed appropriate here. They'd come to a stalemate for now.

She puffed on the air mask, like taking a really good hit.

Oh. What did she do with The Force. Not what she did for credits. Mmm, not as much as she'd like. The Vahl requested the most powerful of Force users. She was..okay at it. Nowhere near the marvellous Darth Isolda of old. One day she'd be able to have foresight that miraculous. In the meantime, Vella wasn't particularly apt with anything other than slinging a blade around and making a few deducing observations when hunting down a target. She didn't need to divulge that, though.

The ship groaned in response to his machinations. Some of the white noise dropped, and the aloneness of the ship amplified. What would they have to do to get out of here. Wait? Fly? She couldn't fly. Perhaps they should see what damage was done to the ship. He seemed to be sealing the big gap. What had made them crash?

Azel Moran sounded like a blacksmith, or an alchemist or something. She hadn't many interactions with those sorts of folk, but they did seem remarkable.
She looked to the air tank briefly, then back at him at the suggestion of that powerful sword. Very cool. Maybe as a memoir when we're out of here.

I've activated a distress beacon. I don't know how long it'll take to get a response though. This ship will also probably send someone out to retrace the trajectory, when we don't make our destination. That takes too much time we don't have.

With a gentle wave of her hand, she passed the mask back in his direction - maintaining her grip on the tank and a careful glower.

When you're done with that, I'm going to kick off this chair toward the cockpit. See what happened and if we can get the engines going again.

 

[Azel Moran]

Her evasion didn't escape him, but for an Inquisitor, playing things close to the chest was a survival strategy, let alone a job requirement.

<A beacon, eh?> He accepted the mask and breathed deeply. <First good news I've had all week. Some bastard cancelled a job when I'd got the sword half made.>

The groaning died down: he'd finished sealing the breach in his mind's eye. Nothing miraculous, just warping metal until it met metal or asteroid rock.

Her plan got a nod. He took a few more breaths and let go of the mask. <Go for it. I have an idea I want to try.>

Vella Forte

 

[Vella Forte]

Definitely a blacksmith. If they didn't end up killing one another, could be some mutual benefit to adding to the little black book.

With the mask now floating back to her, she sealed her nose and mouth inside of it, took a breath, then let go and pushed off the seat. She floated with a little bit of speed in the direction of the cockpit. While rotating to turn around and breaststroke through the air, she maintained her clutch on the tank.

Her movements were minimal and as precise as she could muster in the anti gravity. Thankfully there weren't many obstacles between here and there. She sailed through the open door way and, by no cause of her own, hovered over the corpse of the pilot. His body was crunched into the dashboard. Lights were flickering, and much of the information was rendered in graphics - which was appreciated. Pictures always translated to galactic basic. A reading blipped at her, the screen was a skeletal outline of the vessel they were aboard. Red highlighted much of the display around the back, which looked to be the engines, the rest was a live-feed of the operational percentages.

Lots of information. Not lots of time.

What's your idea?

Azel Moran

 

[Azel Moran]

By the time Vella Forte spoke in his head, Azel had already taken a swing at the idea in question - in a small way, at least.

He'd often used a minor traditional technique called an adiabatic shield, useful for repelling poison and forge fumes and the like. The air pressure had stabilized, low but not lethal-decompression low. The other problem was air quality - contaminants - and adiabatic shields were good for that. But the problem here was a lot more severe than some random fumes coming off a metalwork project. Still holding his breath, he began weaving an adiabatic shield around himself. The goal here was to cut the level of contaminants from 'incapacitating' to 'a week on serious medication.'

<Adiabatic shield. Dropping contaminant level around myself.> Slowly, conserving energy, he floated into the crumpled cockpit. He pushed outward with the bubble; smoke rushed around it under pressure and poured out into the passenger bay. That let him turn the adiabatic shield from a bubble into a flat barrier at the cockpit door.

 

[Vella Forte]

Ah, a fine idea! She gave a curt nod as the only evidence of appreciation while she navigated to float around the pilot's crunched head. It looked like the readings of the ship were mostly stable, save for life support of course. If they could just get moving again they could be well on their merry way.

Still gripping the air tank with one arm (the one furthest from the alchemist), she reached into one of her pockets and produced a device. Swimming through the nothingness closer to the dashboard, she plugged the input into a receiving port. There was a temporary flicker on the screens as the new technology interfaced with the ship's standard.

The readings of the ship didn't change, but they did become more legible.

Emergency backups are offline. I can try and reboot them from here. Looks like something struck one of the engines. If we can get us back up and fully online, we can probably take off again - but we'll be running at half speed with the compromised engines. All power would have to be split between engines and life support. Another peering look at what the readings said. And we won't make it very..far.. What was the nearest planet? Maybe they could touch down.

Also, one small problem.

She turned to look at Azel Moran.

Have you ever flown a ship before?