First Time For Everything

[Lancer Damar]

Oh, sunny Nar Shaddaa. The loveliest, scummiest place in the galaxy.

Scummier at night.


Lancer had jobs that went bad before. He had ones that went south, and he had to bail. It happened in his line of work. Espionage, assassination, moving about- it meant that sometimes, someone got bad intel. Someone read something wrong. Or there were just unforeseen circumstances. But never, in all years operating around the galaxy, had Lancer Damar- this time, using the codename Jackhammer, had been betrayed. First time for everything, right?

He knew that, because as soon as he opened the apartment door, there were five people in the room with weapons pointed at him. The apartment was rented out cheap. The planet let their economy slip following their slunk into obscurity. He was only given a suppressed slugthrower to dispatch one target. He hadn't even bothered to 'kit up' with anything more than a jacket.

The first blaster shot went wide, and the others quickly followed. Lancer didn't bother sticking around, no use barging into the apartment. He slammed the door shut and gave the doorknob a sharp kick, twisting it. It would at least, slow them down by a few seconds. Which was all he was going to need. He heard them shouting and trying to open the door. They'd eventually settle on busting it down somehow. People with guns and the intent to kill weren't typically subtle people.

Lancer ran as fast as he could down the stairs. He had to get to a speeder platform, and fast. Very fast. He ditched the jacket, but kept the gun. They were looking for him in a jacket. Not him in a T-shirt. He was maneuvering toward the speeder platform, when he was fired at. The crowd around him panicked and ran. He blindly fired two shots, catching one of the five assailants in the shoulder. The low velocity of the handgun he was using did little to help him.

Speeders were out of the question.

Adjacent to him, was a spaceport. Not a lot of places to go. Ships were hard to steal, harder to get off-planet without him getting run down by the authorities (as little as there were here). Not to mention he wasn't that good of a pilot- he'd be lucky to get it off the ground. He however, caught eye of a ZX freighter. Notoriously...average. The assailants, had been slowed down treating their comrade. The would-be assassins were on him. He made the decision to go up the cargo ramp. He was silent as he entered. He made no noise when he moved, or breathed.

Lancer was good like that.

However, he did just inadvertently, step into one [member="Kyra Sol"]'s pride and joy.

His day was either going to get worse, or better.

He pulled the handgun close to his chest in a Weaver stance. He had to make sure he was alone here. Otherwise, he was going to escape one shootout and have to fight some pissed off merchant or a pirate. Or worse. He only had two magazines, plus however many rounds he had left in his gun. Not exactly enough to deter much else than a few thugs. He made his way to the door, and began to look for a way to get further into the ship. He closed one eye, to preserve his nightvision. Hard to tell if ships were bright or dark. Helped to have both eyes adjusted to one or the other, just in case.

He pulled the hammer back, and began to move further into the ship. Little did he know, however, the woman who owned it, knew it far better than he did, or ever could.

 

[Lief]

Mechanical Bay​

Onboard the Tarnished Bucket​

​

One single finger moved on an outstretched hand which lay palm facing upward. It twitched lazily, forcing a very slight frown from the woman who sat hunched over her workspace. Tools littered the bench, and a very slight streak of light made its way to the exposed cabling which had short circuited. It wasn't uncommon for her prototypes to have their hiccups, and this had been her first attempt at cybernetics, but where she could usually shelf a project until she had time to dedicate to it, there was no way she could function without her left arm.

Her right hand shook with uncertainty, before the sonic servo dropped from her tremulous grasp to rattle on the bench top.

"Kriff."

The cybernetic arm had made her lazy when it came to learning how to use her weaker hand. There had been a time, following her mutilation at the hands of Ignus, when she had become pretty darn adept with her right hand, she had persevered and forged herself a new arm after all, kept herself alive when further difficulties arose. She shouldn't have stopped learning. Being ambidextrous would have its perks, after all.

With a slight grunt of frustration she flicked the intercom into life.

"Screw, close up the ramp and chart a course for Sarkany. We'll not make any progress if we wait 'til I'm done in here."

Her co-pilot chirped his response and immediately set about closing the boarding ramp. He saw to all of the preliminary flight checks, and had their navigation systems plotting the best course to the moon of Sarkany. It was quite the jump from here, back toward Silver Space, and truth be told she didn't know if she could look upon the world the way she used to, but it was a place to shut off, to focus. Nar Shaddaa was too... Hectic. Even now she could feel the buzz of activity, and she wasn't even in the main starport.

"All checks are completed, Captain, we will be ready to depart at your command."

Droids... So efficient. She managed a very weak smile, for the situation was far from perfect, and tried yet again to make her whole hand comply. Two fingers twitched this time, forcing a grunt of frustration from the woman. Perhaps she should have gone to a specialist, had one professionally made, but what kind of tinkerer bothered to do that? She had made this ship functional, had she not? Melded dozens of ships into one strange creation, with the shell of a ZX Freighter at its core.

If she could do that, then she could fix a damn hand.

"Understood; We've nothing keeping us here, Screw, you can proceed."

The ship rattled in response; it would not take them very long to clear the spaceport, and from there it would be the wide open lanes of space which greeted them. Her favourite.

So focused was she on her task, and so used to the privacy her ship afforded her - what with the lack of an organic crew - that Kyra did not immediately sense the intruder. In her quarters Kyne shifted, sniffing the air with a very slight whine. The hound dropped down from the bed and padded through the ship, fixed on a scent he did not recognize.

And when he saw the intruder a low, guttural growl resonated from within his chest, loud enough to alert Kyra who sat within the next room...

[member='Lancer Damar']

 

[Lancer Damar]

And he was caught.

Lancer was not having a good day. As far as operatives went, Lancer was pretty good. Maybe one of the better clandestine operators in the galaxy at the current moment. Then again, he was good enough that he wasn't well known outside a few higher circles. But all the things he did before, all the things he accomplished for this person, or that government, were about to come crashing down in an instant because of a pissed off dog.

That, and the ship was taking off.

So the dog knew he was there. So he had a few options to take. He could shoot the dog, and the crew. But, he didn't know how many were in the crew, where they were going, or how to fly the ship. He raised his pistol, and thumbed off the safety. The dog alerted whoever was in the next room. He dropped back into a relaxed relock stance, pulling his gun close to his chest. At this range, in a cramped space, all he had to do for a successful shot with a handgun was point the weapon the right way.

He'd been extremely successful with this stance many times, and found no reason not to do it now. However, he didn't want to test it out on the crew here. He backed away slowly from the dog. Lancer's footsteps were eerily silent, a testament to his training and experience. However, that did little to deter the beast. He'd dealt with animals before. It wasn't going to attack him- not yet anyway.

It was alerting it's master.

Whoever that was, that is. Hopefully, Lancer could bribe them to leave him alone for a few days in the cargo hold- or hopefully they weren't planning an elaborate suicide mission, or they were a someone who knew somebody that could land him in even deeper water. And for the first time in several weeks, Lancer spoke.

"Damn."

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

While the Pup held his ground, Kyra rose from where she had been sat and turned to the door. Something seemed... Off. She felt certain she could hear the rumbling growl of Kyne over the hum of generators, for a usually very quiet pup that was an oddity to say the least.

"Send the Bulwarks to the Mechanical Corridor" she murmured into her comms, specifically to Screw who could route her request to the powered down droids. Reaching back to the workbench she took up her Ol' Rusty and stepped toward the doorway. Another second passed, and she heard a mumbled word spoken on the other side of the wall.

With little more than a gesture the door swooshed open, and Kyra used the same instance to focus her weapon toward the individual.

"Pirate, or Stowaway?" she began, not once taking her eyes off him. Kyne settled slightly, taking two steps to her side where he stood alert, teeth bared. "Good Pup" she murmured, as she swiftly glanced the stranger up and down - making note of the weapon and armour. "No pirate has the gear you're carrying, 'least none in these parts. Who are you, what are you doing on my ship?"

She held her weapon steadily and with an almost dismissive confidence. The sound of heavy, clunking footsteps from down the corridor made themselves known as the anti-personnel droids made their way slowly toward them. She never disputed their firepower, but she would've given anything for them to be even a little bit faster at reaching their destination.

[member='Lancer Damar']

 

[Lancer Damar]

She was pretty.

Pretty deadly. And reckless. He could've shot her as soon as she crossed the door. Normally, he would've- but he needed the ride, and the sound of clanking metal friends meant that he was in for a bad time if he didn't play nice. Lancer put the safety on his pistol and put it into his holster on his thigh. He stared back at her, green eyes locked onto the weapon in her hand, the dog- and the fact he was screwed.

He had a beard. No facepaint. No mask. No vest. Nothing other than some simple clothes and a jacket. She assumed by 'gear' she meant the weapon. He blinked several times, before responding.


"Stowaway."

He didn't want to answer her question about who he was. Wasn't exactly a fun topic for him."Two thousand credits you just drop me off at whatever port you're going to next and we go our seperate ways."In truth, he needed to find out what went wrong and plug the hole. He had a lot riding on making sure those people weren't still looking for them. And, he wanted to kill them. Badly. But he wasn't going to do that by getting the business end from her droids, dog, or the gun in her hand. He was deadly- that much was obvious. By the way he was standing, he wasn't afraid, but moreso pissed off. Tended to happen when one was about to get murdered, and then ran away, and then was threatened again. Granted- the actions by the woman were warranted. He would've done the same.

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

She tilted her head to one side, before shaking it with an almost humoured expression.

"Stowaways don't offer to pay, passengers do," she remarked, slowly lowering her blaster as the droids finally neared them. No sense in making her arm ache needlessly, they produced more than enough firepower between the two of them to handle the situation should it turn awry. And she figured, by the way he held himself, that if he wanted her dead she'd likely be dead. Comforting in a way.

"I ain't got much use for credits, though," truth be told she had more than one lifetimes worth stashed away from her time with Rahvin, she'd cut herself a healthy check when she left, more than a simple spacer like herself had sense to use.

Glancing him up and down once more, she pondered over the circumstances and noted the fact that the ship was already pulling free from the starport.

"Figure I ain't got much choice, unless I want those robbing bastards to rummage through my things for a second time today," she had no love for the so-called security that the Shaddaa space stations kept, glorified thieves for the Hutts they were. "But maybe you can make yourself useful. Hand me your gun, you won't be needing it, and when we land you can take it and your credits and leave. Sounds like a fair compromise to me. You get where you're going, I sleep easy at night."

[member='Lancer Damar']

 

[Lancer Damar]

Like he couldn't rip off some wire from the wall or somewhere and strangle her with that instead of shooting her.

He pulled the slide back as he pulled it out, ejected the round from the chamber, and with a little sleight of hand, caught it mid-air. He put it back into the magazine, and held the weapon by the barrel to her. As she took it, he took note of her hands. He studied them for a moment- realizing they were too worn to be a graceful woman. She was hard-working. Probably built the ship, judging by the additions she made. Worked a lot with them, too. Makeup, clothes could lie- but hands were the irrefutable truth. Lancer's were marked with scars from fights and well-built from years of finger strength training.

"Sounds good to me."

He looked over at the dog. Then back over to her.

"Where are we going?"

She spoke eloquently and waxed words. He was straight to the point- and not one for idle conversation. He wanted to crack a joke, but all he did was slightly blade his body and held his hands at his sides. A well-trained assassin at heart, he was in a position to punch her in the throat, should the need arise. But anything he did, the outcome he produced was the same. He would be very, dead. Or, severely injured. His eyes, emerald green in their shine, locked onto the woman. He could've been a model, before all the training and the things he did.

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

Oh Kyra was no idiot. She knew very well that he could find a way to kill her if he wanted or needed to, and losing his weapon wouldn't change that. His body was primed, and it didn't take a hound like Kyne to sense how deadly he was. He could've taken her out and stole the ship before she had chance to react, which left her with just one thought in mind. He didn't know how. To pilot the ship, that was.

Honestly she had only taken his weapon to prove that she could.

Now that it was in her possession she gave a slight nod of her head. No makeup or fancy clothes for this one, the only additions to her skin were grease marks, scars, in fact her left arm remained well and truly out of action - a fact she had overlooked during this whole mental game of chess. She'd seen her fair share of combat, and she'd participate in more before her time came to an end. Simple fact of life.

"I don't know where we're headed, we'll find out when we get there. Unless there's somewhere specific you want out at. I'm Kyra, by the way, and this here's Kyne. I guess I'll show you to your cabin."

Luckily for him there was nobody to share the room with. Kyra did not keep a crew of organics, just droids and the hound at her side who slept at the foot of her bed. She stepped around him, the droids keeping their eyes on him figuratively speaking, and began to venture out of the mechanical corridor toward the crew lounge.

"Make yourself at home, or don't. Just stay out of the cockpit and my cabin and we'll be good, alright?"

Had he dropped into her ship a few years ago she'd probably have dropped him out the airlock. She certainly wouldn't have been offering him a bed. She had come a long way where dealing with people was concerned, one of the few things she could thank the turncoat for.

[member='Lancer Damar']

 

[Lancer Damar]

He wanted to crack a joke about how she wouldn't want him in the pilot's seat anyway, but he found the point moot. She probably figured that out already. She had the smug air of the victor about her now. Not that she was relishing it outwardly. His eyes looked to her left arm. Something was amiss. Like how she hadn't moved it all, if much more than a person with a sprained wrist would. He blinked, noting it as either a cripple or a habit. Or mechanical. He'd find out later.

He dropped the jacket when she showed him to his room. And the shirt. Bare-chested. His move was to make her uncomfortable. Partial nudity, public displays of affection, and shouting matches made people uncomfortable. Hopefully enough to leave him alone.

"Wherever you're going, I'm going."

He ran a hand over his hair, a close-cropped. A forgettable haircut on a man who's job was it to be forgettable. He didn't bother to drop his name. To everyone, he didn't really have a name. That was his specialty. He looked over his shoulder at the girl, his back facing her. Scars from long ago pocketed his back. He didn't turn around. Because on his right pectoral muscle, lay a tattoo in which he hadn't covered up.

That of the One Sith Stormtrooper Corps. When he was a kid and full of ideals. Now, his pockets were full of cash.

 

[Lief]

He could get butt naked for all she cared, so long as he respected what few restrictions she'd given him. There remained zero signs of discomfort, Kyra had been raised among worse men than he, one of the few girls aboard the ship. The time for caring had long since passed. She shrugged her shoulders to his response, if he wanted to linger in space for however long it took her to decide on a location then so be it, she had literally just refueled and stocked up on supplies. She wasn't short on anything.

"Well if you change your mind and think of somewhere, you let me know. There's a refresher just through there" she nodded her head in the direction of a secondary door within the cabin. "I have my own, so use it whenever." Was that everything she was obligated to see to when taking in a hitchhiker? Who knew? Who cared? He didn't seem to be too bothered about the arrangements.

Turning back to the door she made to leave, before sighing for a moment. "There should be a change of clothes somewhere, should fit you. I doubt you want to wear the same set of clothes for Force knows how long we'll be traveling. I'll hunt them down later."

She stepped out of the door, stalling before it could close. "If you need me, I'll be in the mechanical bay. Damn arm ain't gonna fix itself."

Did she care if he knew? Not one bit. So she had a mechanical arm. So it happened to be lame right this moment. Didn't change the fact that he needed her to get him the hell out of dodge. And the droids on this ship? They wouldn't help him out if he killed their Captain, no matter what he did.

[member='Lancer Damar']

 

[Lancer Damar]

"Thanks."

He laid his jacket neatly on the bed. Folded, edges crisp- neater than when he bought it in the store. He looked over his shoulder at her, but said nothing. He had other things to worry about than her arm. Like who burned him. He turned, and laid his communicator on the bed- and a peculiar object. A wax paper notebook. He took out a pen, and began to write. He looked over at her for a moment, but turned back to his work. He was making a list of everything he knew about the job he was on before.

The gist was easy- he often was only briefed what he needed to know and did his own intel work afterwards. He was hired through a series of couriers and channels to eliminate a dissident to the Vortex gang, which was recently involved in a fight with the Red Devil cartel. The Vortex, in a display of strength, aggressively expanded after securing victory over the Cartel. So, the Vortex gang wanted this target eliminated, but couldn't find him. So they put Lancer on the task.

Lancer found him within 48 hours. A Gungan arms dealer named Miro. Miro was supposed to be in that apartment. But the only thing that was waiting for Lancer in the apartment were five men and a bodybag. So why? Who burned him, and more importantly- how? Did Miro get the drop on him somehow? Or did the Vortex set him up?

Several hours passed and he took [member="Kyra Sol"] up on the offer on the fresh change of clothes and the use of a refresher. But he was getting hungry now. She hadn't mentioned where to get some rations, or slop- or whatever spaces that lived with droids and a giant man-eating dog liked to eat while in space. So, he found her in the mechanical bay. He crossed his arms, standing in the fatigues and T-shirt she leant him. He leaned on the doorway, green eyes studying her and the room.

"Have anything to eat?"

He decided to be somewhat civil, tapping his fingers on his bicep.

"Fix the arm yet?"

 

[Lief]

She didn't bother to stick around any longer than necessary.

Walking back through the halls she gave a slight nod at the Bulwarks to dismiss them back to their stations, and headed to the mechanical bay. The ship had already begun its journey toward Sarkany, but she doubted that he would appreciate being dropped off on a world so void of sentient activity. No cities would greet him, no spaceports, just a luscious landscape perfect for recuperating. Just what she needed right now, but likely not what he had in mind.

"Screw, alter our path... Head along the Mara Corridor until I have a specific destination in mind."

"Affirmative, Captain."

Space worked just as well as Sark' for clearing her mind, she was in no rush to return to Sanctum Space.

Once back inside her workshop she sat down to toil over the mechanical arm. Every so often one of the little droids in her service brought food or water, something she rarely bothered to think about herself, as the hours drifted on. She knew it was time to stop when her eyes became so heavy they spent more time half-closed than open, at this point she was just a liability to herself, so she kicked back in her seat and snoozed.

Rinse and repeat. Traveling through space was not as quick as many liked to make it out to be, after all.

By the time her guest came into the mechanical bay her arm was as good as fixed. A few fried cables had been dutifully replaced, and she was in the process of closing up the synthflesh when he made his presence known. So focused had she been on the task that even his quiet voice made her jump.

"Sorry, I forgot... Yes, of course."

She pushed the tools which had culminated on the bench to one side and rose from her chair, stretching out her sore muscles before gently flexing her mechanical fingers. Much better.

"Just about, yeah. Come on, I'll show you where the galley is."

Walking around him she ventured back toward the crew lounge, off which his room had been, and through another door. The room beyond wasn't the largest, but it had all of the necessary components which made up a kitchen. While there were rations aboard, they were typically only used when she was suspended in space for too long. Being that they had only just really left Shaddaa, where she had just restocked the ship, there happened to be fresh produce among the stores.

"Help yourself, I'm sure you'll find something you like. Or I can make you something if you'd rather."

She didn't doubt he'd know how to cook, he seemed a survivalist, but that didn't mean he'd want to. And truthfully? Kyra kind of enjoyed cooking, from time to time.

[member='Lancer Damar']

 

[Lancer Damar]

Usually when one offered to cook, it was rude to decline. Then again, it was also rude to point a gun in someone's house and demand that you be able to stay there. Which is, essentially what Lancer had done. In the time that had passed, Lancer had run through a hundred different scenarios- all of them, pointed to someone not getting the drop, not a leak- but a betrayal. Probably a power play of some kind. In the end, Miro, and his involvement, didn't matter. They were going to die because Lancer was going to kill them. Lancer had a brief moment of clarity- he was ruthless, an efficient machine, a well-heeled engine that pumped out death. He blinked, contemplating his place in the galaxy and how at the end of the day, he was a tool for someone else. And how it bothered him.

He shook the thought from his mind as he followed [member="Kyra Sol"] through the ship.

The kitchen had all the necessities to call it a kitchen, but it was hardly a chef's paradise. He noticed the fresh produce. The bags under his eyes did little to deter the shine in them as he looked at the stores. He realized how hungry he was. And tired. He sat down at the small table- which he realized, she'd only been sitting at by herself. She probably talked less than he did. He turned his head, watching her move about. He moved like a reptile, deliberate and silent. She wasn't as poised and graceful as he was. He didn't blame her, or fault her for it. He was an assassin. She was an engineer. As far as he could tell.

She was definitely a lot more than she let on, though.

"You always travel alone- save the droids?"

Normally, he would've followed that question with a swift knife to the throat or a few shots to the chest, but, being that he actually didn't mind her company, and he needed her, and she took his gun away- and he was hungry and didn't feel like cooking a crappy meal he remembered from his days as a trooper.

 

[Lief]

He didn't even need to respond, she could see how exhausted he was. Hadn't he slept? Then again... She barely slept when in space, it was hard to keep track of time and with so many projects to start and finish she could run on full for countless hours before crashing. So she set about gathering a few pots, utensils, and of course the most important part ingredients, to make him... something. She didn't know what yet, but she'd figure it out.

Being that they were so fresh, and she didn't want to risk letting them spoil, she focused on the perishables. Meat she hadn't bothered to freeze yet, vegetables which were still crisp and sweet, something he'd enjoy as opposed to simply endure. She might not have traveled with others in a while, but that didn't mean she'd be a piss poor host.

"Most of the time. I've had a few people pass through, but..." But one was a traitor and the other had her own life to lead. Instead of voicing her thoughts she merely shrugged and focused back on the meal. By now the veggies were steaming and the meat had just about been set to heat. "Droids are easy company. They don't speak much. Don't need much. As loyal as you program them to be. People? People are complicated."

She looked him up and down for a second. Maybe some weren't, but she wasn't going to hedge her bets any time soon.

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

Don't speak much. Ha. Ha. Very funny.

He started to count the words he said to her since he came aboard. His count wasn't high compared to how much she was talking. Then again, he shared the sentiment about people. The reason that Lancer avoided companionship and friends was the simple fact of complications. They could be used as leverage in his line of work, or worse, they could betray him. Like someone had just done now. He leaned on the table, fighting off the fatigue for a while longer to at least eat before embracing unconsciousness for a few hours. Or a few days. He was dog-tired, to say the least.

But he wasn't going to focus on his fatigue- that was the secret to beating exhaustion. Simply by sheer ignorance of it.

"People are surprisingly predictable."

Lancer liked his humor how he liked his caff- dark. He looked around the ship. Simple lifestyle. Bare necessities. This woman was about as much of a loner as he was. He just traveled by shuttle more than ship. He should, however, at least learn how to fly. His eyes flickered to the pot on the counter. Hand flickered out to grab. Strike against the base of her skull. Droids would be next. Then the dog. Slugthrower wouldn't do too much against the metal skin. She had a blaster on her. That would've been easier to deal with the droids.

He shook the scenario from his head, opting instead to trust her for a while longer. Not too long, at least. The only thing that Lancer trusted was money, really.

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

"Some folk are, I guess" she offered with a shrug, oblivious of the scenarios he was thinking up in that head of his. She turned the meat where it seared in the pan and added some seasoning to taste. Force knew if it was how he liked his, but he seemed dead on his feet at this point. He'd likely inhale it and pass out somewhere.

"So, how'd you end up on my ship?"

Maybe not the best question to ask someone who was quite obviously a threat, trained at the very least, but this was her ship, and she was extremely curious as to the circumstances. Not every day someone just waltzed up her boarding ramp uninvited like that.

When the food seemed to be done she hastily plated it up for him, and passed it across the table to where he was sat. The dishes which were left behind were thrown into a dishwasher of sort. Such things were ever a convenience.

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

She was correct in her assumption that he'd inhale what she was cooking. It didn't register so much as food to him, so much as a necessity for survival. He paused at her question, thinking on how to answer her without having to garrote her later to save his own skin. After all, secrecy was the main goal of a man who's life revolved around assassinating people. He tapped his fork on the plate, before speaking.

"I had a bad day."

That was to say, an understatement to the maximum. He had a terrible day. He had the worst day of his career. Because now, he had people hunting him, he was betrayed, and possibly compromised. Being blacklisted or exposed was also on the assassin's mind. Which meant no more work underground, and having to shack up with some flag- again. He'd avoided being involved in galactic politics, or being a tool of it, since he was in the bladeguards. Special forces to assassin, and potentially now, to grade A-loser, served up on a sucker stick by some jackass in a gang.

"A very bad day."

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

She figured there was more to it than that, but who was she to deny someone their privacy? The less she knew was likely better, so she simply gave a light nod of her head and offered him across a glass of water. If he hadn't eaten, she doubted he was hydrated.

"Am I to guess you don't know how to fly?"

Her head tilted slightly to one side, he could've taken any empty ship he wanted but he had chosen one that was active, one that could get him where he wanted to go. While she wouldn't be offering him a crash course in flying right now, after all what was to stop him from killing her and throwing her out the airlock once he had the basics down, that didn't mean they couldn't come to some sort of arrangement.

Turning over her newly fixed arm, she glanced down to the very slight seam in the synthflesh which she hadn't bothered to seal completely and contemplated the work that was still to be done. It was working, and that was great, but she wanted to avoid a similar fate in the future. She didn't have any parts on her right now that would make much of a difference, but that didn't stop her mind from whirring with ideas.

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

Lancer eyed the water. His body hadn't been aware of how thirsty it was until the food came to it as well. He had to replace nearly every nutrient in his body, H20 included. He didn't say anything, but he downed the glass of water in more or less a single gulp. He set it down, and finished the food on his plate. Lancer stared at Kyra when she made the remark of not knowing how to fly. Lancer knew a lot of things. How far a suppressed slugthrower loaded with a ten millimeter round would go when loaded with cold-loaded ammo.

He knew how to make sure there were no fingerprints on a crime scene. How to strangle a person without leaving marks. How to snuff a person with a pillow so they didn't have defensive wounds. Pressure points. How to disable alarm systems. Ways to deal with canine guards. How to learn a language in under 20 days. How to use High Galactic to seduce Imperial women. How to roll his hands to steal a keycard, or a watch. Or how to cut a finger off clean. Lots of little things he knew that added up to a lot.

But flying wasn't one of them.

In fact, Lancer hadn't even been at the helm of a ship before.

"You'd be correct in that assumption."

He eyed her body. He didn't make an attempt to hide it either. Part of it was searching for where she kept her weapons her person. Part of it was checking her out. He blinked several times, before leaning back in the chair. He'd eventually have to give her something. But somethings would lead to other things, and other things could lead her eventually, back to the real Lancer Damar. And Lancer had done a phenomenal job of keeping himself in the dark from everyone. Everyone. He'd deleted records. Burned servers in old One Sith database storage. And even silenced a few workers who knew his name for when they worked together.

"I'll learn someday. Not anytime soon, though."

Lancer's eyes darted from the fine physical specimen of [member="Kyra Sol"] and scanned the room for threats. A habit that saved him many of a time. His pine-green eyes eventually fell back onto his host, awaiting her next response. He was waiting for several outcomes, the most frightful her demanding to know more about him and what he did. So far, however, she kept her distance.

 

[Lief]

"There's nothing quite like flying through space, unhindered. Going where you please, and not where the transporters are going... I wouldn't give it up for anything, it must be strange not having that freedom."

She frowned for just a second, before simply shrugging it off. There were plenty of things that she couldn't do and would likely never learn, and most in the Galaxy did not know how to fly a ship. Most remained on their world of birth, raised their children there, and never really saw what lay beyond the stars. Kyra had never really had a choice where such was concerned, she had been taken as a child by a group of pirates and salvagers, the hyperlanes and dark voids of space were all she had ever really known.

"I can't even imagine having a real home," Well... There was Star Point, back on Jakku, but that had been more workspace than anything, a place for her to hide from the Galaxy at large. She had no emotional ties to it, and had only returned once when Stephanie had wanted to see the Graveyard of Giants. It was a convenience, nothing more. It looked as though her passenger didn't do much settling down either. It must be difficult to get any work done when you relied on other people to ferry you around.

"Maybe if we part on good terms I'll give you a lesson on the basics" she offered, before turning to place the remaining dishes into the washer. "Though, maybe I should just mind my own business." A very light smile pulled at her lips, and she left the matter of this stranger and his life where it was.

"You should rest, you look like chit... No offense."

[member="Lancer Damar"]