The Last Freighter Going Anywhere

[Malcoma Hesse]

. . . Location: Cabin 246 . . .​

. . . Equipment: in signature . . .​

. . . Tag: [member="Ashlee Nimir"] . . .​

A little party never killed nobody.

It did, just maybe, condemn them to the life of a slave to blackmail, however. Loose lips were normally not in short supply at these functions, and those sunk if not ships then whole livelihoods.

And that brought a wicked smile to Malcoma's face.

Normally, that was. This time, the little party in question hosted on Balmorra hadn't offered her any tidbits about those obnoxious industry elites. Well, a few, but not with any drops of juice.

Mal powered off her datapad, tossed it back onto her bed, and uncrossed her legs. What a wasted trip. A sigh and she was up to fix her hair, hastily uncurled to avoid turning to wrong heads on the long journey home. Spacers with no money meant nothing to her, would not further either her business or tie to the Ministry of Secrets. In similar fashion, she had taken off most of her cakey makeup, albeit more carefully.

A drink was now in order.

 

[Ashlee Nimir]

The sky was smeared grey and yellow, a toxic cloud billowing from the smoke stacks that lined the horizon. Distant thunder echoed around the quiet docks, bright knives broke through the miasma stained clouds. The pelting of raindrops danced along the mismatched metal roofs and intricate grates underfoot. The hooded figure sat hunched on a bench that sat parallel to the quiet street, waiting quietly by herself. The fabric hood of her grey cloak became speckled with damp spots soaking through to her hair, and spread down her shoulders.

Bringing the metal rim of her canteen to her cracked lips she took a long sip, fighting the instinct to spit out the putrid liquid. 'They even got the water wrong' she thought angry to herself, her jade eyes tearing holes into the group of people outside of the massive brick of a spaceship. Her fingers found two more purification tablets from her bag and dropped them into her bottle with a grimace. Tightening the lid she stood and made her way to the quietly shrinking line to the freighter.

Her fingers in her pockets, the overwhelming smell of fuel and alien body odor filled her flared nostrils. She let out a sigh, and turned her gaze upward, admiring the massive ship. She had seen more beautiful toilets, but the chunky metal certainly had a magnificence to its size. Her attention was pulled back to line with an alien grunt. Pulling out her last few credits she traded them to a tired looking bug, who gave her a grubby ticket.

She wove her way though the innards of the ship, finding her way through the maze to a small cabin, reeking of smoke and tar. She entered the tiny room, she couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of it. A queen stuffed into a tiny one person room with a boiler flanking the metal room. Her melodic giggle filled her room, pulling back her hood, and tossing her bag haphazardly onto the tiny, greasy bed. She spun around and sat on the edge, running her thumb over the edge of her bottle. Smearing condensation cleared away the built up dirt and grime sticking to the once transparent glass bottle.

A flickering picture of the Nimir crest appeared under the excavation. Biting into her bottom lip she shifted and leaned back, resting her back on the harsh black metal. Tilting her head back, tears fought against her smile playing along her lips. She let her lip go and gritted her teeth, throwing the bottle into the corner of the room with all of her might, the glass shattering, water, now steam, and the two half-dissolved pills seeped into the warm grates below. The flickering picture faded, and so did her tears. Slipping her bag over her shoulder, she slipped from her room quietly and made her way back through the maze, to one of the few windows.

A large metal 'living area', if it could be called that, that felt more roomy then her real room. The metal box had large windows ringed with heavy metal, no chairs or seats in sight, but luckily no one to share her spot for now. With a tender breath she stared out into the maelstrom of the clouds, her mind full of confused ideas about what the future might hold for her. She let the strangely beautiful mixed colors of the sky calm her own emotions for a few moments.

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

This dingy freight ship didn't even have a proper bar.

Imagine that.

Mal instantly regretted sending her escorting yacht ahead, back to Coruscant without her. But it did have a common hold of sorts reasonably close to her assigned space that did - thank all the Angels in space - served alcohol. The idea of a vintage stocked in a ship currently docked on a toxic heap of a planet stopped just short of sick, but at this point, though her nose crinkled instinctively, she would take it.

Sat down on a nearby stool, pointedly uncomfortable, the undercover madam ordered the local excuse for white wine. The credits left her hand sluggishly, but soon enough found purpose around the glass' middle and bringing it to her lips. The taste was indeed horrid, but with no hope of salvation by purification tablet. Intent on distracting her senses rather than simply stop drinking, Malcoma turned around in her seat.

She straightened slightly. The blinders that had been her desperate mission to find some semblance of her high life among this drudge had evidently allowed someone, the only other passenger she had seen since boarding, down the hall to slip her notice. With one more sip of liquid, Mal whet her lips and stood to join her down the way at the viewing port. A few yards away, she paused to take another swing.

"Vhat do you zink of it, darlink?"

 

[Ashlee Nimir]

The woman crossed her arms and put her weight on one leg, feeling safe within the simple change in stance. Before such a tumultuous storm her mind wandered back to the ice storms of her home, a wash of nostalgia rolled over her, the cold nips of snowflakes on her tongue, the harsh winds beating against the walls of her room, snow covering her windowsill. Her thoughts drifted to her parents, the double sided blade that is nostalgia twisted in her gut, as lightning broke the sky once more.

Words directed at her tore her from her mind, back to the current moment. It took her a moment to understand the words that tumbled from her drunk lips. Turning her head, she addressed the intoxicated girl. Her piercing jade eyes vivisected her, analyzing every inch of her clothes, her stance, her hair, her look. Catching herself, 'Not here' she chastised herself, eyes softened, lips pursed. Letting out a loud sigh, she hadn't even realized she was holding her breath.Nervously turning back to the glass, sure to never look down, she spoke.

Her voice quiet but held immense weight, "Don't call me darling-" she caught herself again and quickly added, "-Reminds me of home."

Gripping her arm harder, she dragged her tongue over the back of her teeth before continued, "Its too messy, and loud. . I prefer quiet. . like space. . or. . "

She didn't finish her sentence, replacing words with a defeated shrug of her shoulders, not sure where she was going with her train of thought for once. Closing her mouth she tapped her boot on the ground she readjusted herself, unable to hold the curious tongue of hers any longer,

"What about you? Why are you drinking low class booze on a ship like this?"

Biting her tongue to stop anymore words from spilling past her lips. Her eyes danced with the lightning before her, excited about the game unfolding before her.

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

'Don't call me darling.'

Mal turned her free hand up vertically, in some form of surrender, and turned away her face. She had meant nothing by it - petnames and sweet talk were her brands - but, her bad. Bringing her attention back to her unnamed companion and nearing the veiwport, Mal set her drinking vessel on the sill. With a shrug, she replied, "It's not quite zhe hustle and bustle I'm used to." Certainly no Coruscant. The urban landscape left much to be desired, relatively.

Malcoma pouted then, more out of showmanship than injury. A paired dramatic sigh and she added, echoing the other woman's chosen wording, "Do you alvays judge foreigners so harshly?" In truth, she wasn't further from being hurt; This gab was entertaining her too. "You know vhat? Nevermind." At some point, Mal had folded her own arms across her chest, but now one took flight in a dismissive gesture. "Can we start again? Malcoma Hesse."

 

[Ashlee Nimir]

Unfolding her arms, eyes following Malcoma's movements, her lips curling into a frown. She hadn't meant to be harsh, but her words certainly came across as such. 'Maybe formalities have a place in lax conversations' she could hear a scoff in her head, 'Just-Act like a normal person, just a traveler. You aren't Viceroy, you aren't a queen.' She reminded herself once more, mimicking her gentle sigh, trying to calm herself with a gentle breath. One hand found its way into her pocket, its pair brushing invisible dirt from her cloak. With a flick of her wrist her hand pinned some of her black hair behind her ear. Flashes of her old holotape stories, heroes from the stars, she couldn't help but mimic their greeting, on her own adventure through space.

"The name's Ashlee N-" She paused, her surname on the tip of her tongue, pushing the instinct away, she lied, ". . Nova. . but please, call me Ash~. I suppose I am just excited to get off planet."

Her mind squirmed around her next word, her thoughts glued to it, her lips wanting to form it, tongue poised, but the word was too heavy. Her old life never required her to be humble, in fact she got better results playing up the cold, unloving, uncaring queen. It took immense effort to speak the words, but her eyes never turned, shifting back into those hard judging jewels, "I supposed I owe you an apology for judging you so harshly. . .I didn't set out to upset you."

As awful of an apology as that was, it was the best one could ask from her. Her hand in her pocket was a fist now, clenching hard as her mind recoiled at the thought she could have a regret, being in the wrong was nearly a foreign concept to her, sure others could be wrong, but she always knew the proper way to act, what to say. Her whole life she had been in a position of power where she could determine what was right. . but now on a level playing field she was lost among the weeds.

Static cut into their conversation. An alien voice broke through the static soup of the intercom, the disembodied voice mumbled incoherently in a few languages. The ship lurched off the ground, creaking of the metal around them, as if without the ground to support it the junker might fall apart any moment. The metal brick almost comically started off to the stars, sputtering as it reached past the clouds. The metal city slowly shrank, the weather beating against the window grew for a few moments, before breaking out of the thick atmosphere, leaving the maelstrom behind them. The planet started to look like a marble lost in the black, and less like a home.

Her eyes lost in the sights, her voice spoke up once more, "Where might you be headed?"