Pumpkin Smashing

[Feralt Tarr]

PUMPKIN SMASHING​

​

A low hum emanated throughout the bowels of the ship; a hidden cargo hold, loaded with narcotic spice - a strong stench of sterilization filled the air, almost to a nauseating extent. Lights above, embedded into the overall structure, flared and died with each subsequent shutter; the ship had long since entered hyper space and, for the moment, would be engaged in a calm decorum which permeated the structure. Beneath the utility and engineering floor, filled with mechanical ports, toiling droids, and the occasional, casually-strolling folk who would perform routine maintenance, existed this extensive labyrinth of cargo - completely isolated herein due to the nature of its contents. Therein sat a man, of rugged tunic, situated himself upon the greatest container of them all - one labelled "DANGEROUS: EXPLOSIVES" - as if a throne, himself tall and gaunt, stalwart in posture, with a frightening poise that refused to budge with each bump through the void.

Feralt was his name - a face lodged beneath an iron expression which stared, unending, from beneath a veiled mane of pallid hair. A sword rested beside him - one of neanderthal-esque quality, dulled by use and stained by blood. His bare feet dangled against the iron frame beneath him, kicking a thundering beat to ease the passage of malodorous time. His palms flat south of his hindquarters, his elbows taught, leaned upon by the greater portion of his weight in support; his head tilted back, like a young girl, lost to imagination, staring up at the stars. Juxtaposed to his appearance, his demeanor was enthralling and his vision blind; he was lost to an odd meditative stance, from which he observed a great perimeter of his floor, picking through what peeked his interest ever so casually. Every so often, some unknown thing would snap him to sobriety; his head would straighten out at attention and, silently, look about the room (even though he couldn't see) before settling back into that hypnotic trance.

About the many rooms that filled the floor, he recognized the contents through other, more prominent, senses: the rattling of fuel canisters and their oily, energized smell which burned his nose; the deep clap of energy cells, rolling and clicking together within great crates; the guttural cries and screams of caged, rabid animals; among these, many more avarice-inclined subjects to transportation. There was no doubt about it - this was a grade A smuggling transport - perhaps aligned with a criminal syndicate or cartel; he snuck aboard many nights ago, as the ship lay docked upon a more docile world; from there he had stayed around, out of both curiosity . . . and a lethargic mood, waiting for it to pass. Besides, he found a mission hear anyway, between dodging patrols and playing about: he wanted to requisition some of their supplies. Borrow a few weapons, some armor, among other things; use it to gain favor with that small quarren group, hoping to incite a civil war; a funny thing. However, he found a particular justice within these past times; an overarching presence, like a goal, or destiny - it gave him purpose in times like these.

[member="Iris"]

 

[Effie Duanna]

Was it worth it? Was all this actually worth it? Such thoughts had been plaguing the Sylphe girl's mind for a while now. You see - they always say ignorance is bliss right? Well what happens when someone does not agree with the ignorance you are experiencing? You become a stow away, much like Iris was now. For most of her life Iris was the property of some sith, tending to his menial tasks and being his personal maid. For most, this would seem like the very definition of hell - but for Iris it was not so much the case. Yes she did not really have much freedom - but she was never treated badly and was kept safe from the horrors of the evil galaxy they lived in. That's where the blissful ignorance comes in. Iris knew nothing of the good people that were kicked down, the planets engulfed by war and the bodies that rotted with disease. One day the fantasy came to the end - The sith met his maker at the hands of a Jedi thus no longer binding Iris to his possession.

Left to fend for herself by the jedi, left to live life as a stow away - Iris was now scouring the galaxy looking for some sort of purpose. The Slyphe girl had no actual destination in mind when she set off, just looking for something/anything that could help her find her place. Her eyes were slowly being more opened to the Galaxy and what a horrible place it was - for it was this Galaxy that was making her struggle, this Galaxy that was forcing her to shake her ass in dingy bars just to scrape enough money together to move onto her next location. That new location had been found. sort of. Iris was informed of a docked ship that she could be sneaked aboard on and stow away to get offworld. Not exactly Iris' first choice of transportation but given the costs of commercial transport shuttles, she had little to no choice but to pay sleazes to sneak her onto random ships.

Staying true to his word, Iris was quietly brought on board the ship and let to the cargo hold. Given the fact she was a person and not some weapon filled crate - this location confused her. Surely there was a room or something she could hide in? but alas it turns out her presence on the ship was not known by the crew so she had to be hidden well. After arriving in the cargo hold, the man who was helping her with the task of hiding put one of his rough hands on her shoulder and exclaimed

"Look sweetheart, you're a good kid...but i am not risking my neck for ya! Wait down here. You get caught you're on your own"

With a hard pat on the shoulder - the man vanished off into the murkiness of the ship. Believing to be alone in the cargo hold, Iris let out one labored sigh, leaned against a crate and slowly lowered herself onto the floor. Iris sat alone deep in thought. The smell of roses (her natural scent) being the only thing in the room that gave her some sort of comfort. Running one hand through her soft thick red hair - Iris quietly said to herself.

"Come on Iris....get yourself together girl"

[member="Feralt Tarr"]

 

[Feralt Tarr]

The sound of motion - a deeper sensation than that of howling beasts, caged away - no, this one felt more . . . perplexing; rather, with greater dexterity and purpose; and a deep vibration that emanated through the membrane of the Force, like a struggling fly, caught within the spider's web. Feralt raised his head; he was no longer alone within the cargo hold. He collected himself cautiously, careful not to incite too much noise before departing; his blade, primeval and bent, slung over his wide shoulder - his slender form thrown from his perch by a stealthy kick; with a small bite of a telekinetic push of energy, tossed lethargically against the floor, Feralt cancelled out his own momentum - he hit the ground soft and silently, eliciting little more than a dry thud: of bare feet smacking the steel floor . . . upon which he made his departure. He moved like a shadow, light against the weight of his weapon; he danced between slender crevices, oft-between the compacted cargo; he lept, pouncing from sturdy legs, along the cliffsides of iron; and flew, like a bird of prey, through the air, scaling his way through the labyrinth of black market goods.

He hit a distant perch in a roll, softly coming to a stop - and resting his blade upon the ground, to ease his burden. He doubted its necessity anyway. Rather, he slunk to the floor, like a weasel, worming his way from his past height unto the ground and began to sneak about; his head bent forward, as if hunch-backed, as he stalked among the ground. Someone was here - they had yet to notice him, still; but he preferred the initiative - besides, it was far too dull to sit about, waiting for them to reach their next destination; he needed to keep occupied. All work and no play makes a dull boy after all; old as he may be, he himself even had the wisdom to recognize this saying held true no matter the age - hence his adventurous disposition. Occasionally he would find himself slipping through outer catwalks that lined the breadth of the ship - often accessed through discreet passages that led from the concealed cargo hold into more-accessible parts of the ship; these seemed often used for maintenance or casual routine - transparisteel windows lined the side, exposing the birth of sunlight and working-folk who toiled about, preparing, at the spaceport, for various scheduled departures.

The size of this ship was no laughing matter; it was part of the reason he had chosen it - and below it all, he could see, that it was revered as such by the dockworkers, who scrambled about, to assume preparations were complete for lift-off. Cranes hummed to life, shifting back and forth as they unloaded, loaded, and prepared small repulsorlift craft, delivering various ammunitions and fuel to the more accessible portions of the corvette. He wondered what they thought was down here; the crew quarters, maybe? He shrugged, turning back to his adventure: to seek out the fellow individual who had wandered into, what now, he considered his domain - his sphere of influence and dominion. He was an imperialist of laodicean qualities; where he tread, like the alpha of the pack, he would often mark as his own territory and, sloth-like, move about carelessly, often-dragged where whims would take him. Much like they did now. Entering back into the central cargo bay, Feralt sniffed about; the path clearly diverging, though his prey remained much more to his left than right. Hereto, he now traveled west throughout his own darkness, guided by the Force.

Then he came upon her - quickly, swiftly; it had felt like an eternity, but, in reality, having been only minutes, he was privy to her self-assurance, himself lodged within the shadows of the southernmost bulkhead:

"Come on Iris....get yourself together girl"

No, she would not be a threat. He stepped free from the tethers of darkness and spoke: "Be careful," he cautioned, "Thou art unwelcome to all above, best to stay as quiet as thou art capable. Lest, thou might be discovered."

[member="Iris"]

 

[Effie Duanna]

A sigh slipped past her lips as she pushed more of her hair out of her face. Doing this was risky - almost too risky. Sure Iris was no stranger to stowing a way in a small ship or two, however the sheer size of this one made it all the more daunting. The greater the ship means the greater the crew - the greater the crew meant the greater the chance of being caught which Iris hoped to avoid. Some people would probably think she is crazy for taking such risks but to Iris this was less about the dangers and more about the end goal, the possibility of better life. Iris would actually often refer to this as her pilgrimage jokingly. Having no spiritual or religious beliefs, Iris lived by the phrase "you only have one life, don't waste it" which made her journey all the more meaningful.

Back pressed firmly against the crates, Iris raised her short legs and pulled her tired knees into a hug. This was not really a sign of sadness, more just to try and heat herself up the best she can - cargo bays were not the warmest and welcoming of hideouts. In her heat conserving pose, more thoughts began to plague her mind. Where were was this ship going? What is actually her plan for when this ship lands? Another troubling thought was that of her race. Iris was a Sylphe, a botanical being - Not usually being seen off their homeworld a stray Sylphe girl wandering about will attract attention. Iris took most of her thick red hair and swept it around so it hung over her left shoulder now deciding that she needed to lift her mood. Instead of thinking of the bad (she had plenty of hours to do that) she decided to think of the that could come. Leaning her head back, a small smile creeped across her painted red lips as she being to envision herself in a nice apartment living a luxurious lifestyle - who would not want that right?

After a few minutes of living in fairy tale land Iris came to. Iris had no force powers so there was no way to tell she was not alone - however the sheer emptiness and coldness of her hiding spot made her uneasy nonetheless. Her calm demeanor soon changed to an anxious one. Then suddenly the complete unexpected happened. A man appeared from the shadows. Such an event startled her severely and she lurched back from her hiding place. The thought of being caught must have still been on her mind subconsciously because instead of a scream she let out a gasp. Reaching for the first thing she could - she grabbed an abandoned crowbar and pointed at it. The fear clearly present on her face

"just...stay back!"

Iris' defensive stance soon soften when she actually listened to his words.

"i'm sorry.....you are not one of the crew? what are you doing down here?"

[member="Feralt Tarr"]

 

[Feralt Tarr]

[member="Iris"]

"Thou art fearful," Feralt observed, humming with a possessive lilt of approval, "As thou should be . . . this vessel is naught but for darkness. Thou should leave now." He shouldered his cloak, drawing it closer over his shoulders, cowl taught against the back of his neck, though discarded; his iron visage peered out unblinking, unwavering - he stared at her, until interest bade him elsewhere . . . he led himself in a march around the room, eyeing along the walls, the exposed, skeletal structure that bit into the hulking frame. "Just because . . . I am not a friend of them does not make me thine ally - though, thou art fortunate; I bear no ill-will towards thee. I am simply here on a mission of . . . curiosity." His lanky body lurched throughout the shade of the room; his head, a single, dark, metal expression lost behind a mane of shaking, silver hair; he bore no weapon - he had left it behind to ward off fear; or perhaps, in interest of greater challenge; and pulled himself along with such grace, juxtaposed to his slender, unkempt pace, he gravitated a sensation of power - at least amongst himself. "I am Feralt . . . Feralt Tarr, a wandering soul who art drawn to whim; who art though?" he asked, though he made no particular intention of stopping, and continued.

"A stowaway," he concluded, not offering a chance to contradict; he stiffened, turning towards her - perhaps he smiled reassuringly underneath the mask, but without the tangent sense of the Force, or an adept knowledge of body language . . . the way he positioned himself towards her, ducking his head down, the movement of his feet and bare toes . . . one would never know that. Rather, he might appear even oppressive, being a gaunt figure cast against darkness with a horrid expression forever frozen in iron upon his cheeks. "Inexperienced," he also announced, "New? No, thou are too old; why hath thou turned to stowing away with unfamiliarity to the craft? Thou art naive, thou hath come aboard a ship destined to the black market; thou take no measure to conceal thine sex nor thine appearance; thou art a fool . . . or inexperienced. Thine tongue betrays it - thou art simply inexperienced. So, again, I shalt ask, without intervention, who art thou? why hath thou come aboard this dark vessel? They oft make slaves of those captured aboard . . . why the risk?"

"I myself come by the winds of whim."