Faction What lurks in the depths (Levant and those interested)

[Cato Fett]

“Though, salvage, you have an equal claim…”

"I might. I could," Cato replied, shaking his helm. "The thought's appreciated. But I've a vessel of my own I need to go reclaim. Nothing against this... this Nautilos, but it's less a starship and more an entity. This thing requires a more deft touch, someone more empathic or at least comfortable with the psionics involved in interfacing with its... intelligence. Besides, I barely have the means to look after a conventional vessel, much less two, even less something as overtly and subtly sophisticated as this."

He glanced at a hand. The armour-silk cloth across the back of his knuckles was frayed and pitted, encrusted with dark rubies of clotted blood where the skin was exposed. A mild ache pulsed and throbbed where the joints of his sore fingers met the flat spade of his equally bruised and lacerated palm. Cato realized he reeked; of caustic sweat, of cooked blood, of burnt textiles and smote lamellar plates, his shirting and hakama weighed down in places where the gore and ichor of their now brutally partitioned enemies had splashed and soaked into the fabric. He was too much 'flesh', he thought. Too much bone, sinew, musculature. Too much bile and breath, a crude, mean thing compared to the Nautilos' apparently ageless grace. The ship felt as weightless as light. He felt heavy as lead and stone.

Cato rolled and canted his shoulders back until a wet krik! sounded, then plodded over to another high-backed seat mounted in a recess along the cabin walling and sat back into its cushions. He disengaged the locks keeping his helmet in place and laid it onto his lap, looking down at his sweat-matted reflection in the dark armour-glass of its long T-visor.

"I will say," Cato began, looking up. "If I'd ventured down there alone, I might not have come back alive. All I have to repay your help is my thanks, for now. It is... a good hour, when Mando'ade and Witches come together. It felt like better days."

Brooke Waters

 

[Brooke Waters]

What she wanted was to at least give the option. She would be more than happy to fly with the Nautilos, so long as she, he, they, or it, wanted to fly with her. Arda and its ancient civilization were aquatic in nature, even before their cataclysm, something she’d need to figure out. Forerunners, perhaps? Right now that wasn’t the issue. “Does seem to be about right. I think we’ll have to get this to Arda, maybe leave it with the Witches while me and the ship get used to one another.” Her hand idly found the necklace she had, the one with the glowing crystal from Arda.

“Do you find that acceptable, Nautilos?” The blonde asked.

“I FIND IT ACCEPTABLE. I LOOK FORWARD TO A PURPOSE, WITCH.”

Brooke looked at the ship. She doubted it was meant to be rude, but just a title for her. “Brooke, if you’d be so kind, or Wayfinder, if you need to be formal.” She shrugged and turned her attention back to Cato as he removed his helmet.

“I know I’d not have been able to handle the combat down there if I didn’t have you. We reflected and backed each other up very well. Mandalorians and Witches had their relationship before, and I think it just found its hand again. I’d enjoy it if you took rest and relaxation at Indadh’s Rest before I find you passage back to your ship.” And hers. She turned as the ship reverted back to real space, the blue globe of Arda below them.

Cato Fett
[End]