Dominion Hyperlane Harmonics | First Order Dominion of Terminus & Saijo

[Kimiko Taiyou]

Elisea Apollodor

Their reception had been surprisingly, one would say, nice. The First Order forces and minor representatives had been respectful and welcoming, leading the small party to their destination, briefing en route on their mission in the system. It had impressed Kimiko, along with the few from her council she had brought along. Perhaps they could come to a beneficial agreement through all this.

The small encampment they had been led to reminded Ki and her crew of the many battlefield shelters and lean-tos they had frequented in their time together. The particular tent they eventually entered was near what seemed to be a triage area. A medic trooper pulling back the flap and ushering Ki inside.

Once inside, the Empress shook off her hood and surveyed the interior before spotting Elisea and bowing her head respectfully,"Greetings! I am Kimiko, former representative of the Outer Planets Alliance." she cheerily blurted out with a bright smile.​

 

[The Major]

NIGHT ON SAIJO
MORALE: GOOD
Grigory the Bear | Daal ​

There was a lot that could have been said in reaction, namely because of the amount of background noise, possibly active and malicious sound, which was rebounding around within the Other One’s mind —raw, wriggling, and worming its way through the flimsy plasteel defense that this person had built to block this song. Commendable because there was at least an attempt of not giving in. But Sybil had seen what this woman was capable of, and that raw power. Ooo. It was desirable if such talent could be channeled, if not provide a tighter purpose and level of control at the very least. Alas, there was probably no way to convince either of these entities to give treatment and mission parameters a chance; not today. And there was another factor to all of this. The Imperial Agent didn’t really have a reason to start poking around at the Other One, or trying to entice her with concepts of advanced medical procedures, or rolling the seduction stat by regaling the Needle Killer with tales about the White Current. Both Matryoshka and Grigory were apparently happy with the vigilante lifestyle, and there didn’t seem a way to spall or encourage them into coming along with the former Fallanassi to Dosuun.

And on top of all this, what gave her the right to even try to improve their situation. Or, more accurately, change their situation. It’s not like Shepard was running an empathy charity, and it wasn’t like either of the pair were asking for charity. After all, she was the one enjoying their hospitality and experiencing something different for once.

“Understandable,” responded the Major to Matree O. If there was anything else to add, the blood soaked person of interest had already shuffled off to clean themselves up.

By the time Daal had returned to her seat the Major had dressed both her wound and herself, and was now seated quietly, preferring to let the owners of the home take the initiative if they felt like it in terms of conversation. She occupied the quiet by looking momentarily over her datapad, updating herself on the progress of the First Order elements in play in the area.

 

[Elisea Apollodor]

Thankfully, there were no triage or operating rooms around Elisea.​

​

The administrative tent was calm, and the Specialist had been running numbers and comparing Terminal City's healthcare with Avalonia's. A member of the army's military police had opened up the tent to allow Kimiko Taiyou and their entourage through. Elisea got to her feet and walked around her desk, "welcome, please have a seat, my apologies if this isn't exactly what you're used to. I'm Specialist Elisea Apollodor with the First Imperial Medical Services. How can I help?" Elisea had briefly read on the Judges' colleagues but hadn't done much beyond that and even then it was faces and names.​

​

The Avalonian gestured to the small duraplast chair opposite of her desk as she walked back around to take her seat. ​

 

[Grigory the Bear]

Grigory was not entirely oblivious. His difficulty understanding the vagaries of the human condition notwithstanding, his hearing was acute enough to hear what passed as conversation between the two women, and he gathered it hadn't gone as expected. That was fine. The cub was not, to put it mildly, the best advocate for herself. She had improved by leaps and bounds since they first met. She was no longer the haggard, malnourished waif he found in the alley, desperate for a meal and a break from the voices in her head. Now she was a blacksmith well on her way to mastery, a warrior of no small amount of skill, and certainly no longer in desperate need of protein and carbohydrates. But, she still needed a break from the voices, and that was one thing that Grigory feared he couldn't give her.

He was a bear, after all. His psychology was as different from that of a human's as his physiology. The same traits that allowed him to shrug off blaster bolts and smell prey from a quarter mile away made him spectacularly ill suited for dealing with mental illness. His brain didn't work the same way, and whatever sage advice he might be able to offer, he simply didn't have the frame of reference to understand her struggles. Even in the lab, he no memories of being weak or powerless. The world to him was made out of cardboard and paper, and he had to move with care to avoid shredding everything around him to bits. There was no one and no thing that frightened him. Fear was an abstract, something that he understood in theory, but had never personally experienced.

This Ess though, she seemed like she was on the cusp of a decision. It was possible that there was hope. Not for him, mind, but for Matryoshka. He neither needed nor wanted help, but her? To help a cub in need, there wasn't much he wasn't willing to do. If that meant selling his services as a killer, then so be it. It wouldn't be the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. The problem was, he wasn't the one that needed convincing. That role fell squarely on the shoulders of the investigator.

There was only one thing for it. The best way to demonstrate his resolve, outside of killing anything that stood in his way, was with his cooking.

How was it that Ess had wanted her fish? Lightly kissed by flame. So be it.

The preparation was simple. The salmon was cut into fillets, which were further divided into slices an inch wide, running the full length of the fillet. To them, he applied a simple glaze of soy sauce, mirin, sake, sugar, and a sort of soup stock make from dried and preserved fish from previous catches. The glaze was important. It combined three important qualities: it was both sweet and salty, but had a depth that allowed the flavors combine into something more along the lines of savory, but had a distinct twang from the rice wine that hinted at sourness without actually turning the flavor profile. The alcohol content would allow it to catch fire, the sugar would allow it to caramelize and scorch, but the soy sauce wouldn't allow any one flavor to become overpowering.

The grill was wood fired, but had a fan that could raise or lower the heat as necessary. The bear cranked it up, creating a blazing inferno that was almost, but not quite, hot enough to forge with. Each piece of fatty meat went into the fire for only a scant few seconds, just long enough for his nose to detect the all important chemical reaction as the glaze heated and the skin scorched, creating a glossy coating over the surface of the fish, with black around the corners. The intense heat allowed the fibers of the meat to expand and separate on the surface, which in turn allowed the glaze to intermingle with them, penetrating into the fish. The wood and the char combined to add a pleasant smokiness, which further pulled the flavor profile into savory, and pushed the inherent sweetness of the glaze into the background.

Such precision would take a humanoid chef decades to master, but Grigory had two all important advantages: his nose, and his brain arms. With his nose, he could detect the precise moment when the chemical compositions changed under the heat, and with his brain arms, he could both insert the chunks of meat into the fire without fear of being burned, and ensure that they cooked evenly on the surface, while leaving the insides quite raw.

Once withdrawn from the fire and given a moment to rest, he dusted them with freshly ground black pepper, a light coating of sea salt, and garnished with pickled radish and ginger. The steaks, meanwhile, were finished with their rest cycle. It seemed a shame to plate such a dish on cheap plastoid cookware, but he had neither the time nor the space to haul around fine ceramic dishes. As a side, he prepared a salad of local edible herbs that had a pleasantly citrus smell and taste, drizzled with a dressing made from rendered fish fat, sake, and soy sauce that tied it all together.

Why go through all the trouble?

No mere beast could come up with a dish like this. It wasn't wild improvisation, but rather, the work of years of practice, thought, and experimentation. Even with his natural advantages, Grigory wouldn't have been able to come up with a dish like this without the sort of relentless perseverance that one so rarely found in bipedal societies. There were five star restaurants in the gleaming towers of Coruscanti high society that couldn't boast fare like this, and the bear knew it. If Ess was half as perceptive and cultured as she let on, she would know it as well. And if she wasn't, well, maybe she would make an offer just to keep a steady stream of gourmet food on hand. If it helped the cub, that was a small price to pay.

One final detail: as he placed the dishes at the table, he poured a measure of soy sauce into a small dish, and placed it next to Matryoshka's plate. She couldn't get enough of the stuff, and he was only too happy to oblige. As much as she'd sweated in the fight, she'd need to replenish her electrolytes. It would help ease the soreness and stave off any potential cramping. If Ess didn't make an offer, they still had work to do on Saijo, and he needed her ready.

Daal | The Major

 

[Nylea Apollodor]

When Kimiko entered the tent, she was met by not only Elisea. Mrs. Apollodor was also accompanied by her wife, who had been keeping herself busy helping with keeping administrative records in order. Nothing sensitive, of course; Nylea wasn't part of the government like Elisea was after all. The echani turned her head away from the datapad as Kimiko entered the tent. They had a guest, and so she put the device down and turned her full body towards the newcomer.

Elisea and Kimiko exchanged introductions, though Nylea remained silent for a short moment herself. A gentle smile and nod was sent the fox-like woman's way in greeting instead, making sure not to needlessly insert her in the talks. She was no representative for either side, just the spouse of one. It simply seemed a little rude to keep working.

"I will leave you two to your talks, if privacy is preferred," Nylea remarked. There were moments where third-party pairs of eyes and ears weren't welcome, and the echani saw no reason to be difficult about that.

Elisea Apollodor | Kimiko Taiyou ​

 

[Elisea Apollodor]

Kimiko Taiyou | Nylea Apollodor
​

"Another friendly face is always welcomed," Elisea remarked, "so long as our guests are alright with it, I don't see why you couldn't stay." The Avalonian beamed, "besides we're here to work together." It was the hope of the First Order to make acquaintances with more representatives of the Judges and/or some of their colleagues. No one understood better what kind of hardship making 'friends' out here in the Outer Rim better than the aforementioned group(s). "We want to help people out here, and not just here on Terminus."​

​

"But throughout the Outer Rim and if the First Order is to make good on that, then we cannot do it alone, we'll need all the help we can get." As it stood there was an understanding, so Elisea continued on. "Believe me when I say that we, the First Order, are well aware of how people might see us and might treat us due to our past reputation."​

​

She set aside her work to focus on her guest, "but we are willing to work for a better day, work toward building the trust necessary to become the change we want to see, a change for the better."​

​

​

 

[Iasos Kontarr]

Tags: Tir Grastis | Dresden Verbrennung
Wearing: Outfit | Boots
Muse Notes: Shinedown :Enemies"​

She had a mission on Terminus...an important one, she'd been told. Which...didn't involve shooting things down with her ship for a change. It involved a whole lot of waiting around for people who 'might' need extraction from their own situations. Other missions she obviously wasn't read in on. Which she understood...that was the nature of the beast. Especially since her piloting gift had been proven in a number of situations recently, all of them outside of the cockpit of a fighter where she excelled.​

She glanced down at her datapad for the dozenth time that hour at least before she nearly dropped it when her comlink flared to life with an incoming call. Managing to carefully set it aside and answer the call, the engine of her appointed speeder roared to life in the meantime. She grinned to hear Tir's voice coming through, but his breath caught in his throat and his tone worried her. Eyes narrowed, Ias nodded and simply added "On my way, handsome. ETA two minutes, less if I can push this thing faster."​

Quickly strapping the comlink to her wrist, the coordinates finally lit up a path on the navigation screen and she sent the speeder hurtling forward. Put the pedal to the medal? Stepped on the gas? There was an applicable saying for this, of a certainty, but she couldn't think of it just then. But that extraneous thought quickly fled as she darted through the city traffic and wove in and out of spaces her speeder had no business fitting in with remarkable alacrity.​

Honestly, some days Ias thought she missed her calling to be a race driver of some sort. The adrenaline rush was real as she approached the coordinates and gained a little altitude while circling to the right corner of the building. He was either coming off of the roof or out of one of the nearby windows...which one was the mystery as she tapped her comlink to signal her arrival.​

 

[Tir Grastis]

THE RED NEBULA​

There hadn't been a need to call for the sniper support since the stairwell exploded, more or less, right after Tir had escaped the general vicinity. The sound of the incredibly powerful rounds impacting against the building was ear-ringing, as the Firrerreon growled and did his best to cover his ears, as the other rounds followed the first rapidly. When the destruction was over, Tir started to move toward the stairwell, or what remained of it, and peered through the dust at the hole that had been made. The group in suits didn't exist anymore, but hints they had been there were visible, like the hand on the debris-covered floor.

Heh.

Tir began to climb and maneuver his way up the decimated stairwell, as he used whatever was solid for hand and foot holds, to continue his ascent up toward the roof. It took him a minute or two, but the Agent got through the aftermath of Olga and was again on his way where the fourth story stairs were still intact. Ten more seconds and Tir burst out of the rooftop door, as he looked around to make sure the path was clear. He noted the lack of opponents, before he walked to the south-west side of the club, ready to meet--

Fwzzzt

Fwzzzt

Fwzzzt

--several blaster bolts sailed past Tir's shoulder. The Firrerreon turned and looked up as he saw several more black speeders approach from up high. Seemed more thugs had responded to the emergency, as the vehicles landed on the rooftop, and more suited aliens began to pile out with weapons drawn. Tir, not fond of the fact he was without his weapons, rushed to the closest raised portion of duracrete and slid behind it. He still had the steak knives, he supposed, so he wasn't unarmed in the general sense. A sharp edge was a sharp edge, didn't matter how the weapon looked.

"Effective hired goons?" Tir muttered, as he exhaled, the blaster fire from the aliens continued as they approached to surround the Agent's position. "Shocking."

Around the time Tir had determined it was going to be a rough fight, even with the sniper cover, his comm beeped. His redheaded guardian angel had arrived. So, with no reason to stick around and get shot repeatedly, the Firrerreon peeked over the cover and saw he was about to be flanked; and with a quick throw, sent one of the steak knives sailing toward the closest enemy, which caught the alien in the throat and caused it to fall over with a gargle on blood.

Then Tir was off, sprinting across the rooftop, as he hopped up onto the building edge and ran parallel along it. He saw the hovering speeder ahead, a story or so below, with Iasos at the wheel and waiting. With a grin, the Agent took the last few steps and went to jump off the building, but a hit from a blaster bolt to his leg caused him to twist in the air at the last second before leaping, as Tir went wide-eyed and started to flail a bit as he fell.

"Sonofa--"

The distance to the speeder wasn't too far, about twelve feet, but the Firrerreon's aim had been off thanks to the flank shot. He landed solidly across the passenger seat with a burst of air from his lungs, before he tumbled forward and stopped falling. He was laid out across the speeder seating, his feet half over the passenger door rim, with his head... in Iasos' lap. Despite the blaster wound to the back of his leg, which burned like how a mynock sucked, all in all Tir couldn't complain.

"Hey, just droppin' in," Tir said in a gruff voice, as he looked up at the redhead with a pained smirk. "But we should go."

Overhead, the aliens in suits that had been in pursuit started to fire blasters down at the speeder. Tir disentangled from Iasos' lap, as he sat up and moved into a position to cover her with his body, so she wouldn't be hit. His Firrerreon body was surprisingly resilient, and he knew that if the extremely skilled pilot was hit, he wouldn't be able to do much except crash the speeder. Plus, Tir didn't think the redhead would appreciate getting a blaster shot for her troubles...

"Leavin' the area, High Ground," Tir said into his comm to Dresden, before he looked to Iasos, as he watched her work. He wondered if the suited thugs would give pursuit, or give up. "Thanks, flygirl. Quiet night so far?"

______________________________

Dresden Verbrennung | Iasos Kontarr​

 

[Kimiko Taiyou]

Elisea Apollodor | Nylea Apollodor

Ki took the other woman into consideration, feeling a surprisingly kindred aura emanating from her, nodding politely and offering a sincere smile,"The more the merrier, as long as our goals align."

Her attention returned to Elisea as she spoke, listening with ever increasing optimism. Her own interactions in the past with past members of the First Order were generally beneficial. Her mind did wander to a certain Ren she had not heard from in some time.

She snapped out of her thoughts and caught up quickly before responding,"I may not be able to speak on behalf of all of the former Alliance members, but, with my continuing presence throughout the territories, I will be happy to ensure a peaceful transition of power. For you are correct in the general hesitance from our shared pasts as opponents." Ki paused, looking at her primary confidant, the woman stoically nodding in agreement.

Chika, the fiery supreme commander of all Sakuran forces, was enthralled, her past coming to surface in the presence of a faction akin to her previous employers. The Empress could only smile.

"As long as our sides are in agreement, I will do my best to spread word and foster cooperation as you make your way throughout the Outer Rim. I know there will be some who are staunch in their resistance. But, allow me to put any possible resisters to rest peacefully before force is applied." She offered in as eloquently a manner as possible.​

 

[Daal]

Daal was focused on the food in front of her as she began scarfing it down, dousing it with as much of the sauce the bear had poured for her as she could. As she replenished her electrolytes, she began to feel life return to her body as well. Her limbs were still horrendously sore, but now that she had some food on her stomach she'd be able to safely medicate herself for that. With an extremely obvious failed attempt at sleight of hand, she produced a bottle of the medication she had taken from the first safehouse that the bear had brought her to. The bottle fell from her hand into her lap with a distinctive rattle, and would have hit the floor if she hadn't managed to catch it in time. Her hands fumbled once again with the lid before managing to take it off.

"Unh--"

She almost dropped the bottle again, but fortunately this time she managed to keep her grip. Her hands were still sore from the fight, even her arms felt as though they had no strength left. A couple of little white pills were shaken out of the bottle, gently, as to not pour out too many at one time, and they were quickly shoved between Daal's lips in a way that, in terms of gracefulness, left something to be desired. The lid was screwed back on tightly and the bottle was placed on the table in front of her, and she resumed her meal.

The bear had once again outdone himself. It didn't take much to impress Daal, as anything was better than eating old, spoiled food and whatever janky concoctions she managed to snatch from street vendors. Her palette had never been graced with such savory dishes before she met the bear, and it certainly helped that he cooked enough that she could always eat her fill, and after two more helpings of food, she was content with herself. At the very least, her stomach was pleased. The images of the bodies she had broken this night came and went, but they always came back, and she had not forgotten the blood she was covered with when they returned home.

"They... They were young, weren't they. We killed a lot of them."

Daal silently remained seated at the table in front of her now-empty dishes.

The Major Grigory the Bear

 

[The Major]

NIGHT ON SAIJO
MORALE: GOOD
Grigory the Bear | Daal ​

Sybil had oft read passages professing that the eyes serve as shimmering viewports into the soul of each being, but that didn’t really follow along in her experience of the galaxy. It was a romantic notion, to be sure, but eyes were deceptive. The obvious ways would detail accounts on how practiced liars could feign this emotion or that; but more importantly a person could have cybernetic eyes, and the HRDs more commonly found operating Coreworld bound had the same inclination to practice dramaturgy when it best suited them.

Now, how they tasted, or rather the tastes they produced, really enabled one to get to know another more deeply.

The metaphorical tilt of her thought was a bit mixed, but Shepard went with it, because the food was simply that good, so her mind meandered along with the narrative the flavors and textures of the dish. If that grilled fish sandwich earlier today before the skirmish was good for street food, then this was something on the level of magnificent. “Atrisian cuisine,” it was marketed as back on Dosuun, and this was quite a popular and costly style of food trending in certain wards and age groups back on the capital world. This interpretation seemed to have a soul and level of expertise you couldn’t get without paying quite a bit for the privilege, and it was a unique blend of styles to boot; it wasn’t exactly like the most popular style of cuisine, which somehow makes it taste all the better. The skill displayed was shocking, calling into question whether or not the Bear and his companion were merely a pair of blood addled hunters.

That settled it; Shepard had to try something to get them on her side. Trying to connect with Marty-O would be a waste of a gambit. The woman was either too introverted, too uninterested in Sybil to reach out, or contending with demons so deeply entrenched that a Section Agent was not equipped to soothe it out. The tall Almanian took no offense that the Other One had to basically maneuver herself around Sybil. That’s just how the blaster bolted sometimes; a rock in a stream, all that good stuff.

Grigory could handle Daal’s observation on the melee. Shepard suspected it was either directed at him or the voices in her head anyway, not to the Fallanassi, and the Agent’s opinions on the matter wouldn’t really affect either of them regardless. She remained silent and stoic while the Bear responded and once that line of thought was complete and another silence filled the room Sybil spoke up.

“Thank you for the meal. It has to be some of the best fish I’ve enjoyed in all my life.” Sybil conveniently left out the bit about how short this iteration of her life had been, and its relatively light experience in terms of variety and range.

“I have a proposition for you. My nation is going through an extensive reimagining of its purpose —a resurgence fueled by growth and cooperation. Saijo is only one world, but soon, this entire sector of space and its conjoining hyperlane routes will be secured in a network of order and open trade. It will be a place intolerant of organized crime; this only works if sentient beings like yourselves are around to work towards and insure that stability.

“I’m not asking you to put on a black coat with a matching cap or swear an oath of allegiance, but look at what you’re capable of: that kind of talent should be given the resources and care it deserves. Even as a freelance operator you could be entitled to advanced medical treatment or access to a fully equipped freighter. Maybe things and property is of little importance to you: understandable. I’m not here to argue with a manifesto, nor to try to sway you on moral grounds. I think ultimately you’re here to try and help people, and the newly reactivated Security Bureau also shares the same goal. The Bureau might fit you like a glove: an extra tool in your arsenal.

“I hope this is not an offensive bid. I really do think you both can have a lasting impact on the people of the Rim —in terms of cleaning up the trash— and if not some extra sovereigns and help from an agency can get you wherever you seek to go. Here,” she produced a pen and slip and wrote down a comlink number, leaving it upon the table. “Think it over for a few days if you’d like. At the very least, we can finally share some of that vodka once I’m off this current regimen. . .”