Whether It's Damned Or If It's Good

We all have to start somewhere.

That was what she remembered telling the con-of-a-bartender. "That was not Corellian whiskey," even though her eyes were raw, she rubbed them in circles over and over again, then groaned. A sound that rivaled the bottomless pit of acid and booze that was her stomach promised retaliation. The smell of vomit, alcohol, sex, and musk curled up her nose and Vega resisted the urge to welcome the vehemence of her body. She was at the edge of the mattress in nothing but a cheap animal hide jacket, reminents of panties, and fur-lined boots that were planted on the floor.

Everyday she awoke this way and yet, every night remained the same.

Black liqueur liner was parsimoniously smudged and streaked under pale gray eyes; ashes of last night's mascara like the tiniest confetti upon her cheeks. The mirror was set on the floor having fallen at some point and not a soul managed to tack it back on the wall. Luna stared at the far-gone, besotted image of herself and blinked a few times. "Well," unmanicured hands went through tousled beach tresses made up of at least a half dozen colors, "I've seen worse."

Without another word to herself, she managed to stand and stagger to the door if only to open it. "Breakfast," it was a hoarse, bedroom sound that came from her mouth- as uneven as the steps she had just took- but it was loud enough for the cantina cook to hear below.

"Breakfast is over. Get some pants on and get to work," answered the cook in response.

Suddenly, she had wished she would not have opened that door. Better yet, even made the effort to walk to it. "I'm'uhh callin' in sick," slamming the door, Vega had barely made it back to the bed where she crashed into it.

A small com-device flipped open in her hand, "If someone doe'nt get me off of thez frakkin' roock."

"Look, punkin', the stars are all burnt out. There ain't no way we're dropping ship to pick up yer arse in the next turn or two. No matter how sweet it is, Vega. Just sit tight..." a barrel of laughter boomed then crackled on the other end.

The knock at the door just caused her to press further into the bed.

"Fifty credits." the Port Authority said, his gaze stern as the youth pulled out his datapad to check his funds. Mako had left Artamis with three thousand credits to pay for his endeavours, and he wasn't about to let precious half-hundreds go to waste when he had no idea how easy or hard it was to make money in the galaxy.

"Thirty." He offered. It probably wasn't wise to negotiate with the dock officer, but he didn't have many credits. The older man peered to Artamis' datapad, but nearly a year with a band of pirates teaches you a few tricks. The younger man had toggled his credit balance to display a false budget rather than his funds total, which displayed a total of a hundred. He hoped that would be enough to sway the port authority.

"...Hm," the older man mused, then looked to Artamis' face, "forty. Final offer -- take it or get out of my dock." the port officer said with a tone of finality. Artamis had little choice, so he plugged an empty credit chip into his datapad and transferred forty credits to it, then handed it to the dock officer. With a flourish and a grin, the dock officer tucked the credit chip away and stepped out of the youth's path.

Artamis nodded in appreciation and tucked his datapad into a pocket inside his jacket, then zipped up. He wouldn't have any pickpockets nicking his vital device. Once he was in the city proper, he glanced around. He didn't know for sure where to start, but he knew enough to seek a cantina, bar, pub, tavern, inn... any sort of public house where talk spreads. Luckily for Artamis today, he wasn't after secrets of the underground kind, just a weapons shop. Those were pretty common, though getting specialty gear might be a bit of a heftier task. After some time, the young man happened across what he was looking for. Set aside in between some upper-class hotels was a small, pretty unassuming building with a little sign that announced that it was a cantina.

He entered, and paused to the side of the door a few moments, letting his eyes adjust from daylight to the dimmer lights inside the building. Once he could see clearly, he made his way in and looked over the different seats. He noted ones that had unassuming marks scratched next to them. In his time as a crewman, he learned that some of those scratches aren't just damage, but symbols designed to denote different needs. Spice, women, the black markets, all of those could be hidden messages in the scuffs and scrapes. Artamis chose to avoid those booths and picked a table-for-one seat that didn't have any particular patterns to its damage. Just wear. As he sat, the barkeep glanced his way and went to the back somewhere.

Artamis had a pang that he might have accidentally started some kind of trouble.

The smell of fried gungan wafted under the cracks of the door and in through the many blaster holes decorating its surface- or maybe it was just something her mind was recalling from many years prior. Slimy, smelly, daft were that race. Gungans. She remembered Jen building the fire now, and Blue carving up one called Onah. The idea of eating it was...revolting. The crew she was with were ex-convicts, weapon runners, mercenaries. They were sick, sick bastards.

The smell though... of burning, fishy flesh.

Her gray eyes flashed open, vision blurred. Vega no longer smelled the fish fry, only the faint aftermath of  someone's orgasm and perfume was shoved up her nose. It was the pillow! Ghastly thing! She stood only to send the thing flying across the room.

Damn near blind, the lass mustered up enough will to search for a pair of pants. "Ah! Hah!" Olive in color with the knees blown out... sure. The work get-up was no where to be found and to be frank, she did not care.

"Table one is up. Get yer arse down here, or that is it. I s'ear it!"

Nothing short of, but not quiet falling down the flight of stairs- Luna just went, sometimes skipping a few for the fear of falling might arouse her conscious enough to.... "So, what'll it be, lad?" Mascara smudged under her eyes and she might look as if she would fall asleep. Was she pretty? One could not tell.

Vega the lunatic... or what her coworkers referred to her as, stared blankly at the man sitting in the only seat in the house she served.

It was a peculiar place, of that he was certain. Artamis casually looked around the room, noting the one or two patrons that were minding their own business, but for the most part the establishment was vacant. He gazed through the smoke at the bar, noting the collection of bottles and the deficit in fully cleaned glasses. He sighed a little at that sight -- at least on the Gem he made sure everything was shined and up to snuff. He was vaguely aware of shouting in the back rooms, and he decided to space off for awhile.

"So," the voice snapped Artemis back into reality with a start, "what'll it be, lad?" he looked up to the source and saw a woman. He thought. He'd never seen a more miserable-looking individual in his life, and that was saying something. Part of him felt sorry for the... girl? Woman? Age was hard to determine. He kept himself together, however, and played it by ear.

"A drink, something light, preferably," he requested, before leaning forward just enough to add slight emphasis to his question, "and would you happen to know where a guy might find some equipment? I need a good blaster, and am new around here." he said, making sure to lace his voice with necessity's inquisition and not some shady 'I need a gun quick to shoot my cousin' or some dramatic garbage of the like.  He didn't want to cause waves on a world he knew nothing about and had just arrived on. No matter what line of work you were in, that was always a bad start.

Artamis hoped that the... waitress... knew something to help him out, either first-hand or where to go to ask. If this place was a dead end, then he'd be rather disappointed.

Even though she looked the part of one of those people who gave it all for a little, or a nobody that got slid under the rug, maybe she did too many lines, emptied too many bottles. Yeah, she'd done quite a few of those. Luna had tugged her fur coat closer, noting just then she had not thought of a shirt and it was the only thing offering dignity. Dignity? Hah. "I'll see what we have," she eyed the stranger wearily, fumbling for the zipper and easing it up half way as nonchalantly as possible.

What man looking for some firepower drank light? While thumbing over a few bottles, the waitress milled over the answer. Perhaps "light" meant fine and not cheap. Because no one she knew worth a bantha's arse drank "light" and Miss Vega knew a lot of people. The ale they had in stock was mostly Wookie preferred, the liquors hard. "Sweet lady, today is your lucky day." Luna swiped the bottle of Bespin Port from the cooler and a clean wet rag from the wash bin.

The reflection of herself was noted among the many bottles she ran across. Even with her low standards it was bad, so she decided to wipe her face down. Two-day old make-up wasn't that hard to scrub off as most of it was probably smeared on the pillows and bed sheets.

"Names Luna," she appeared once more, this time fresh faced and with a bottle and glass in hand. "That'll cost ya extra, foreigner," The cork was popped and the white frothy mist appeared from the mouth of  port. Reluctantly, she poured and the pale red liquid pooled into the long stemmed glass.

"Artamis, and are we talking about information or a name? I'm afraid such pleasantries will have to remain outside of business." he replied, eying her just as warily as she was eying him.

Up until this point, he'd watched her actions, movements, the way she tipped her head as if mocking someone. He knew these actions because he'd done the same. She was dissatisfied, fed up, and at the end of her thread. Just like he was at Bestine, trapped in a gilded cage of comfort and science, only to be told he couldn't leave until 'explicit ordered granted his release'.

At least, that's what it looked like.

Part of him was sympathetic and wanted to help her. The hero that floated around inside him wanted to whisk her away to the Morvak and give her a less insufferable life than what she had now. Then the realistic part of him threw the hero out the window and cynically viewed this... Luna as a ticking time bomb just like he was. Able to snap at a moment's notice and do everything and anything in her power to escape the trap she found herself in. This is what caused him worry.

Still, he had to appreciate a finer drink when he saw it, though it was hardly what he'd expected to receive.

"Do you always treat your patrons to what appears to be your finer drinks?" he asked, flashing a bit of a grin in typical pirate-smuggler fashion and leaning forward in polite anticipation. Enough to be charming but not enough to be provocative, or enticing. He definitely didn't want to cross fates with this woman, at least not as he knew her now. It could be a dangerous, volatile situation and he was not going to pull that trigger if he could help it. All he needed was a blaster to see him through to his next courses of action. The suspicion behind needing a weapon was obvious, but to anyone who could see past the fog of paranoia that even clouded his judgment... he was merely shopping.

And still, he debated her usefulness. She cleaned up nicely, and wasn't a bad-looking woman without the layers of dried makeup, but a becoming visage didn't imply the ability to aid his... quest, as it were.

Artamis rolled of the tongue sweetly,  just like a properly rolled cigar. As if his name reminded her, slender digits slipped into a pocket inside her jacket. "Pleasantries," scoffed the woman as she put the cigar betwixt her lips to free her hands. One snaked around a "clean" glass and the other under the bar for a light. Once lit, Vega bathed in the aroma it gave off, drawing in a toke and then let the smoke curl around her mouth. A satisfying sigh escaped her and she cradled one of many addictions between her middle and pointer fingers. "It's no like Imma resident here," employee or not, the words were bitter, "or like I planned on this life. So stoppa lookin' at me thatta way."

Smoke billowed around her glass and moved like small, ghostly waves when the port was poured. She took a plentiful sip, holding the sweet tantalizing liquor on her palate before swallowing. Luna's eyes had closed briefly. "The finest aside froom the Ambrosia. But I donna get paid fo' pullin' lads off teh floo'," she smiled prettily, "besides, you said light."

The waitress rolled her shoulders, shrugging them. "Maybe I'm teh only one on thes rock that'd be willing to help." A single finger worked the rim of her glass. "The others jus' assume ta meet ya, shoot ya, and loot what ya got. Me?" The contents of her glass washed down her throat.

"Artamis," slipped sweetly off her tongue just as she'd presumed. "Me? I'm jus' lookin' ta get off..." Luna leaned against the counter, watching him with slate gray eyes,"to no particular place."

Artamis stifled a cough at the wafting of fresh smoke in his direction. As part of being crew on what was likely the most gentlemanly pirate ship ever, he was never forced to accustom himself to smoky air. The strain to suppress the rejection of the cigarette smoke left his jaw tight and his eyes watering, but he forced his calm and kept his demeanour... agreeable. He tossed her a quick credit as part and parcel for services rendered, then picked up a glass of the red fluid, swirling it lightly in the glass it was contained within. He looked up to Luna as she spoke of tricks and false portrayals, as some mere ruse to sink a shiv in his back and be off with his money. It was all quite dramatic and held a great deal of bravado. Her cigarette and glass of port only gave that perceived refinement to her otherwise macabre speech.

Artamis thought to himself, he was beginning to like this one.

"And..." he took a sip of his own glass, "why would you want to, as you say, get off... so desperately?" he punctuated his sentence with another sip and set the glass down, remaining calm, reclined, and ever so casual in the instance he found himself in. He was never sure if he could pull of the... 'smuggler's charm' as he liked to put it. So far, it appeared to be working. Of course they could just be playing each other the whole time. Her attempting to play attractive, and him trying to play charming. Both playing a simple game in the name of reward, though the fairer of the two seemed to gain much more from the bargain being delicately held over the conversation.

"Surely you're settled? Employment, income, and you live in this..." he trailed off and gave a broad gesture around them "...place." he held the glass in his hand as he gestured, playing a bit more posh than he was probably entitled to. Still, he was enjoying the facade.

"Surely a woman such as yourself has little to gain leaving it all behind?" he questioned, not in a probing or accusatory way. No, he presented it in such a way that it would leave the question in the conversation like a pleasant conversational piece, something to allow the ebb and flow of conversation to go about its natural course and not detract from the tide. He was playing far above his level, and yet he felt confident about it.

It felt natural, and flowed freely.

The theatrics deserved an applause, but instead she topped off his glass. Afterall, entertainment was hard to come by in these parts. The same show played day after day and night after night, so she supposed it was some sort of relief; a gift from the gods if you will. "An' wha wouldah maan like you know abou'a'gir like me?" Lena leaned in close, curious, the credit he gave being slipped right back into his hand.

"Girl, what did I tell you abou' bringin' you own to the bar? They're gonna start thinking we keep it on the shelves! Blast it, Luna!"

The woman recoiled, rolling her eyes, and then promptly filled her glass. "Aye, musta slipped me mind. Apologies."

Faint cursing and pots and pans clamoring together were heard from the back. The smoke had finally ceased and she glanced at her customer for a handful of seconds. "Ahh..." small hands, giving the notion of 'oops'.

Lena turned towards the stairs then, but here gaze was fixated on Artamis, "No all cages seem one until you no can go. Some dun seem one at all." It was a small smile full of regret, then she swiped her glass and headed back to her room. "I'm sorry about your ship..." she whispered over her shoulder, not wanting to draw attention.

There was a reason she was still stuck on this planet. His ship was gone, Luna knew, or he would not be able to gain access to it. They would kill him or... She shoved the door open and slammed it shut. There was a reason she drank. Many.

"You.. what?" he asked, any previous interaction removed from the equation at the mention of his ship. He stood quickly, downed the last of his drink so as it wouldn't go to waste, and made his way out the door. Brash action of a young man, indeed. A wiser man would have kept his cool, a smarter man would have sought information. Artamis was currently neither of those, and ran on instinct and impulse. He disregarded the fact he was unarmed, and made for the docking bay again. One-track minds are always lovely. His return to the docking bay was greeted with an armed contingent of 'security personnel' in charge of 'protecting' his ship.

"But I own that ship! What part of that don't you understand!?" he was getting angered now, the stoic 'guards' refusing him access to the Morvak. They were unresponsive.

"Look pal, I don't know who you think you are, but you can't ju-" he was cut off by an authoritative voice from behind.

"Oh I very much think I can, and I have." said what, at the time, must have been the most jumped-up, arrogant, self-centred voice he'd ever had the misfortune of audibly absorbing. He was losing his temper, though, so such a reaction was to be expected. He turned on his heel to the newcomer.

"Yeah? On whose authority?" he asked aggressively, to which he was accosted by the armed individual he just foolishly turned his back on.

"On my own, child. Now run along before I have my associate ensure you don't need to worry about your ship anymore." the man he was confronted with smiled with such a dignified arrogance that it first made Artamis punch him in the face, then a healthy dose of reality came to the young man's mind and he gave a frustrated sigh of defeat.

"I knew you'd see things my way." the man taunted, which elicited a low, involuntary growl from deep in Artamis' throat. The one holding him tightened his grip, against which Artamis' muscles flexed and coiled. The only thought running through the young man's head was that of payback. The power stored within him wanted out, but the youth had not the knowledge or the necessary stimulus to trigger such a response. Until a moment later.

"Dispose of the boy, I have no use for vagabonds." the voice echoed just loudly enough for Artamis to hear, and it was the very voice that offered his life spared. Deep within Artamis' genetic code, a series of warning signals and built-in triggers fired. Neurons in his brain exploded with activity, and every nerve he had was on fire. His violet eyes seemed to shine with their own inner light, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The guard holding him tried to grasp tighter, but the flesh was resistant on its own. Sigma was armed, and all it would take was one little wrong move to ignite the flame.

The armed man pulled a shiv, and some sense gave Artamis that last nudge into his locked potential. In a flash, Artamis broke the man's grip, spun him around, and held him in a strangle hold against the other armed men. They drew their blasters, but Artamis' smaller frame slid into eclipse behind the broad man's frame. He held the shiv that was intended for his demise picametres away from the jugular of his captive, who was being choked to death anyway. A fire blazed in Artamis' eyes, the kind of which blazed with a fury hotter than any sun. They had triggered Sigma's most primal defense mechanism, a fail-safe to prevent his untimely demise. They were the killers, but now they were the prey.

"I don't know what ye expected, lass," the owners voice carried into her solitude, then his face appeared at the door. "Drifters only want what you have," he ventured in, the tone of his lulling her. "You never listen and for that, all you receive is disappointment. I brought your bottle up," Jet set it beside her slumped, defeated form resting against the only window frame in the room. "You've done well these past few months... just polish this off and sleep," sighing, he walked out the door. "Don't do anything stupid." It clicked shut and as she assumed, Luna heard the lock set in place.

Never in a million years had she thought she would want to hear that sound. Yearn for it even.

The jacket she donned was thrown to the side and a bra and tank neatly replaced it, along with a shoulder holster. Luna began lacing her boots proper, then shoved blades in both. "Not this time," the waitress mumbled to herself.

Doubt threatened to choke her, but she decided she had to try. The walls felt as if they were closing in and Vega mushed on grabbing hold of the mattress and flipping it. From there, she slung an E-11 blaster rifle over her shoulder from within the confines of it. The frakken thing was not the sturdiest of weapons, but you made due with what you had. Thank the stars it was not to be solely relied upon. Two modified KYD-21 blaster pistols were then removed and shoved in their respective holsters.

Luna Vega shoved on fingerless, leather gloves and pulled the jacket back on (Yeah, she managed to slip the bottle of port in a concealed pocket). Not once did she look back, instead she threw her leg out, slamming her boot into the window. Glass shattered and danced it's dance down where she would moments later land.


"Search the ship for goods. Have Pete run diagnostics and a background on our friend here. It is always nice to know if he'll have anyone coming after him." Len stood at docking bay 4, just in front of the Morvak's lift, coolly giving orders to the dock officer. The two of them having left the dirty work to the rest of the band of outlaws.

The sound of blaster fire pierced the air and the boss set his jaw. "That wench!"


"Lovely place, hm? Why would I ever want to leave all this?" Luna was just behind him now, pistols out at the ready. She had already taken out three at the rear. More would show up meaning they had to move quickly. "Artamis, you gotta get up. Now."

"My head... what happened?" The last thing Artamis remembered was being accosted by a mercenary. After that, it all was either fuzzy or black. Now he woke to Luna's voice feeling like he was hit by a ton of bricks, or ran over by a bantha. He felt his muscles stiff and unresponsive, and decided he must have taken a centre mass stun shot. The Sigma trigger was still somewhat active, however, and it surged blood and proteins to his muscles and sped his recovery from the stun shot. He bounded to all fours and scrambled to stand beside Luna.

"Wheeeeell lookh woh joint da pawty" he said, his words slurred from his tongue still being rather numb. He looked behind and saw the dead mercenaries, and a thought struck him. He dug his heel into the concrete and bolted for a body, pouncing it and dragging it behind the wall. He rushed to transfer his few items from his current vest to the merc's armoured vest, and then speedily strapped on the vest, armoured pads, and replaced his basic boots with the combat boots, complete with shivs. With the final touches of buckling on the utility belt that held a stun baton and the blaster holster, he stood. He made his way back, grabbed the belt off the other mercenary, and strapped it on to cross the other and allow full access to the many pouches and allowed him to have two blasters.

It was heavy.

That was honestly the first thought that came to his mind. Not some false sense of invincibility leading to a gun-ho annihilation of the squad of mercenaries holding the Morvak captive. The weight was pulling on Artamis in ways he'd never experienced. It was to be expected when you've never strapped twenty pounds of protective gear on yourself before. He held one of his two blaster pistols in hand, oblivious to whatever make and model it was. All he knew was that it shot and had a stun feature.

There were more important things at stake, however. Five precious minutes were spent re-equipping himself, and he wasn't about to waste more time. He ran to the Morvak's loading ramp and hit the unlock button, which gave an error squawk. He cursed millions of insults at it.

"Mako's beard, open you infernal thing!" he screamed, and he could hear the hum of circuitry coursing through the ship, until an emergency alarm sounded inside and it opened. The ship-auto started and was blasting hot air at the auxiliary entrance to the port. Artamis was dumbstruck for a moment, then caught on that the old Captain must have used a common saying aboard the Gem as a security override fail-safe. Clever.

"COME ON!" he shouted to Luna over the roaring engines. He bolted for the cockpit, and activated the remote gunner controls that Mako had installed. It was essentially like a holo-sim for youths where you blast little caricatures on a screen. Just this was much more real.

He hoped Luna was on her way in, they were starting to come through and his trigger finger wasn't exactly well-lubricated.

This was too easy.

Those eyes, they would remind you of storm clouds, changing between light and dark gray. The panic in them obvious as she looked one way, then another. Len was still alive. Luna had made it a point to look at every body that littered the path to the space port. They were on an extreme time crunch, her and this Artamis. He had made it to his ship and Miss Vega was not far behind. Still searching, blaster pistol pointed, the stun setting off.

Unease. Uncertainty. Fear.

So close this time, she thought as her boots thudded on the ramp. The vagabond inched her way backwards, further inside. At some point in time, Vega had figured the ramp would start to retract or pull up. It held steady when the ship left the ground and more of the townsfolk entered the docking bay. The engine purred and whined and shots began firing.

She returned a few shots and ducked inside for safety. Leaving the ramp uncovered was a bad idea. They still were not far enough off the ground to be clear of anyone climbing aboard. Vega rolled on her shoulder giving her a decent enough view to fire accurately. "Hello, doll. Fancy seeing you here." The voice came from behind along with soft thuds.

To her surprise, she gave him credit. It was a smart move on his part. "Lenny," she said dryly.

"I thought we had somethin' special," her once lover had said and she let him steamroll into his dramatics. It would give her time. The crash of the Bespin Port bottle came smashing down over his head at the precise moment that he went for his weapon. She threw all her weight into it and sent him tumbling off the side of the ramp. "Fekkin clus teh ramp, Art.  Now!"

They still weren't out of the storm yet, just up high enough for no one to latch on. "Clus teh bloodee ramp," she yelled while heading towards the cockpit.

He couldn't quite make out what Luna was saying. He vaguely heard something about the loading ramp, and realised that it needed to be closed post haste. He flipped the switch that closed it, and the hydraulics did their job, pulling the ramp up with deliberate, unyielding movement. Artamis loosed a few blasts of the turret into the docking bay, discouraging any attempts to jump on board. As soon as they were high enough to clear buildings, he punched the acceleration and the engines blasted the Morvak into space. Artamis doubted this was the end, however, and kept his eyes peeled as he deactivated remote control of the turret.

"Some friends, you've got." the young man commented, looking over his shoulder at Luna then retuning his eyes to space. There wasn't much time left until they could make a jump out of the system and then be mostly home free. He'd already planned a trick he learned aboard the Gem. He would jump to any random system but not land, then check the ship for anomalies. He never thought he'd use half the things he'd learned aboard the pirate vessel but apparently such knowledge was valuable. He didn't dwell long, however. He had to keep focused, and had a feeling that they would be pursued before long. He hoped not.

Perhaps it was the shock, maybe the Port hadn't wore off just yet. Luna stood there, slender tattooed digits curled about the pilot chair's head rest. The paint on her fingernails were old, chipped, but from what was left, looked to be neon pink.  They were embedded in the headrest. Her stance was stiff as if bracing for something. Anything.

What she thought she was seeing was chalk streaking across the board- stars at the beginning, in the jump to hyperspace. Honey-pink maw slightly ajar, the barest hint of breath leaving her body. Vega felt light, free... a dream. There was no way this was real, no way she was on a ship. No way someone would have saved her.

The time spent just standing there must have surpassed minutes into well over a few dozen. Her fingers were cramped, her eyes burned. "I need a drink..."

Vega fell then, losing control of the grip she had. The reality a bit too much to bare.

He felt the woman's tight grip on his seat, and her anxiety. He punched the hyperdrive and the Morvak's engines gave it their all, and they were off for a random star in the mid-rim. No notable planet activity, and hopefully outside of the current Imperial-Republic skirmish zone. He chuckled and felt a pang of regret when Luna stated she needed a drink. The ship wasn't stocked.

Thud.

Artamis peered around the side of his seat and saw Luna passed out on the floor. He blinked, then figured that the stress of events had gotten to her or something. He stood, and lifted the woman up. He brought her to the central room of his Class 580. He went around the cargo holds and the rooms and gathered soap, water, and fresh clothes. He took a damp rag and washed her face and hands of the old makeup and other grime, then left her a note with directions to the nearest refresher on the ship and set the clean clothes under the note. They were unisex clothes, nothing fancy. Just clean and a quick change into something not covered in whatever permeated that planet. He didn't waste time on delusional daydreaming, either. He found her attractive, yes, but of all his immaturities he didn't get starry-eyed at the first lady to board his ship. He would save any actual flirting for a more appropriate time. Like when she was conscious.

His little niceties taken care of, he headed to the cockpit to check the navicomputer and then set about making sure there were no stowaways and then he slumped in the pilot's chair for a quick nap. The route was a fairly long one, so it would take a few hours to get there.

The mirror on the floor was gone, the unkempt mattress gone... the putrid smell of cooking flesh, booze, sex, after shave...

Messy multicolored lockes of hair more than framed her face, it hid it for now and she peeked through strands of electric blue and aquamarine again. She must have been taken to solitary again- it was the only place this clean and squared away. At least it had the essentials. The air was plain, walls a soft tan, the room was empty save for her five foot five sized frame.

There it was, salt... sweat. Luna tossed her head, causing a wave of colored bangs to shove to her left.  Stark gray eyes peered around without hindrance for the first time. The note was practically neon, could have spoke to her. Not solitary. "Oh, man..." Fear and excitement fueled her sudden rush of adrenaline. She sprung from her resting place, heart pounding.

She stopped dead. "Thes has go'to'bea joke. Lenn-aay. Ya bastad! Sho' yerself!"

No. No. She remembered now. The Port. Vega's curiosity yet again bit her and she moved over to the note and the stack of folded clothes. "No linger... Than'teh stars!"

Piece after piece of dirty clothes was peeled off and discarded. They were replaced by a shirt a little too short and pants she barely got over her arse. Luna shoved a blaster in the waistband anyways. "Ahh, but thur clen...clleeeaan." Lithe shoulders shrugged and she kicked her boots out of the way, padding barefoot down the hall with directions in hand.

"Art..." she said softly first, still weary. She glanced around corners.

....So quiet. "Artam-" her hand clamped over her mouth, finding that he had dozed off. She would have just gone back to that room, but... The viewing screen caugh her off guard and she became breathless all over again. Freedom at last.

The world he inhabited was empty.

A pure black void spanned in all directions, yet unlike the darkness of dreamless sleep, he was fully aware of the darkness. It was a play of disparity he'd never come to know before. The dark was both pitch black and brightest light, cold chill and warm comfort, it was life and death incarnate within him. A twist of destiny, a dash of fate. In the blackness, he saw a seed. This seed was bright as a star, but smaller than the tip of his finger. He slowly walked over to it, but was stopped some metres away by an unseeable force. In confusion, his brain adopted the image of a ray shield blocking him from the destination. The shielding repelled his touch, and in moments of bashing at it, the shield pushed him back in an explosion of power.

He sat, then, staring at the seed from where he was thrown to, wondering about what it was. The darkness spoke to him, in a voice he could not hear but somehow knew was there. 'You are not ready' it said. He felt sad, like he was unfulfilled without that seed. He heard echoes through the darkness, a feminine voice whispering out for him. It penetrated his dream subtly and allowed him awareness of his surroundings.

"Luna." he said in his dream, acknowledging that she was here. He could feel her drawing closer, and then stopping a few feet away. The darkness dissolved into the unawareness of dreamless sleep, and his eyes fluttered open to the azure hues of hyperspace.

Artamis slowly opened his eyes, the initial impact of blue light to his retinas causing him to facially recoil, and close his eyes again. Slower this time, he allowed fractions of millimetres of movement as he opened his eyes, then took a great yawn and a stretch from his surprisingly restful, if mysteriously themed, sleep. He sat up a little straighter, and turned to Luna. The cognisance of his sleepful state replaced with a feeling of eyes on the back of his neck at her presence. He flashed her a small, sleepy smile and stood to greet her.

"You're awake. Rest well?" he asked. Though such a question may be confused with playing hero or feigning concern to lodge a place in her psyche, he was genuinely concerned for her well-being. Team members, crewmen, even the guy you just met but fought off a bar brawl with are companions and friends in Artamis' mind. He took care of his own.

A familiar voice, yet not skated across her skin. It threatened to pull her back to reality. She fought, star-struck as space was painted before her. Luna was desperate for it and had been for years. For someone who spent their life on solid ground, they could not begin to imagine the heartache to be without it for so long. Many looked up to the night's sky and wished upon these stars. She had known nothing but to be surrounded by them.

Seven years without weightlessness and the vast galaxy around you, conforming like an inky blanket. Thoughts, dreams, and journeys were endless. "Jus a mo'e't longur..." She pleaded, tears threatening to fall. Her hand had moved without command and touched the glass. "...thank you."

For a few heartbeats more, Vega Luna stood there awed like a child stuck to the windows of a toy shop... or a junkie getting his next pick-me-up after going through months of withdraw. It was ecstasy. "Soo goo I fo'go whar I wus." She had peeled herself away and slowly came to meet his gaze.

"Whar ar'we headed?" Vega found herself leaning into the co-pilots seat and with nothing else to do, she shoved her hands into her pockets.

Artamis watched her with curious eyes. He'd never met anyone like her, and not in the mushy way. She carried with her obvious secrets and past dilemmas, yet at the sight of the space lanes she appeared filled with wonder, like space was a long-lost lover for her. When she asked for a moment, he silently nodded and reclined against the back of the pilot seat, giving her all the time she needed. He looked between her enamoured figure to the vortex of hyperspace and back again. He had questions he wanted to ask, but considered them best saved for a more casual setting. Her thanks was answered with a soft "You're welcome", Artamis keeping his voice low in respect for her having her... moment.

When she finally turned away from space and leaned on the copilot seat, he was mulling over a mental checklist of what to do when they arrived. Which was oddly on-topic to her question.

"Oh, nowhere in particular. A mostly-uninhabited system in the mid rim. I need to sweep the old girl for any bugs, tracers, or signs of sabotage." he patted the wall of the ship fondly. "Our first adventure" he thought to himself, before letting out a chuckle. He suspected that despite his life in a research facility, he would soon become fond of space. He already felt attached to his new ship.

"You should get some rest, or get cleaned up. I'll probably do the same, I'm covered in... I don't even want to know." he shuddered at the realisation that blood, sweat, and grime mixed and congealed on his skin. He made his way toward the doorway out from the cockpit, then turned back.

"There's a refresher on the port and starboard side of the ship. The note I left gives directions to the starboard refresher, so I'll head port." he gave her a little nod as punctuation and made his way to said destination, walking a little awkwardly due to the mess he just made himself aware of.

"Right." She gave a smirk and tried smoothing out the note she'd accidentally crumpled without him noticing. Lena stood there awkwardly waiting for him to leave before heading out herself. Normally, she would have jumped at the chance to run scans and diagnostics. Once upon a time it was a hobby of hers. It had been seven long years since she even had the opportunity to be next to a ship, let alone in one getting intimate. Maybe I can talk to Artamis... "...No... bad idea."

Many things ran through her mind on the way to the starboard refresher.

Deft fingers flew over the few choices of soaps offered, or left behind. It was all men's of course. Not a single floral scent. Almost anything was better than that of how she smelled now. The woman hoped she wasn't taking from him, when she opted for a long, hot shower. No time constraints, no one watching... or washing. It was long enough to take away most aches and pains. Some of the many colors from her hair swirled down the drain along with the dirt and muck. She imagined that the entire half of the ship smelled of a light, crisp menthol by now.

Even pirates liked a little luxury and this one had been without it for far too long.

After slipping back into the clothing she was given, Vega gathered up her under clothes and headed back to her cabin.  It was not like she could just dispose of them, even though they looked and smelled foul; it was the only things she owned, save her weapons. Surely they had a laundry room somewhere, she thought. Probably run it through ten cycles or so and the thought made her laugh a throaty laugh.

It felt like it had been a day in the refresher. They had probably landed, had already been set up, and were on their way to a new destination by now...

"Artamis," she rang, padding down the hall, "Co'ya tell me whar I can get thez warshed and parhaps..." stumbling a little over her words, suddenly nervous about her rather too casual appearance. Long ebon hair, streaked in numerous colors rested wet on her shirt, causing it to cling more than it already did and ride up past her navel- the pants even worse around her shapely hips and round bottom. The cut was definitely not made for a woman. "...parhaps somthin' that uhhh... fits."

The shower felt good. Even though it wasn't exactly a long time since he'd bathed, it was nice to get rid of the grime and who-knows-what-else from his skin. He chose one of the less identifiable scents. Clean-smelling and pleasant and with a distinct lack of identifiability. He finished long before Luna did, so he threw on a shirt and loose pants, and then his boots. With nothing else to do in hyperspace, he gathered everything he'd taken from the mercenaries and laid it all out on the floor in the lounge room.

He divided the clothing, underclothing, removed the armour padding, put the blasters to the side, emptied the belt and vest pouches, and laid it all out in a very organised fashion. He tapped a console on the arm rest of a chair and some upbeat music played, which he swayed to the beat of as he worked. He got a bin and put all of the contents of the pouches into the bin, then rummaged around the ship for some scissors, thread, and all manner of clothes-altering tools. It took him the whole trip (which was great), but he made lined pockets for the armour padding to be inserted into the pants and shirt, sewed those in, removed pockets from the vest and attacked them to the shirt, then used padding from the vest the same way he did the armour padding, and made the two belts into one double-belt. The holsters were attacked to the lower belt and he sewed on straps that hooked the holsters to his thigh instead of hanging casually. He also took shiv holders from the vest and attached them to the inner calf of his boots for easy, and easy-to-conceal, access. Finally, he rummaged through the cargo hold, and found a military-style jacket. He gathered all of these clothes and took them to a small laundry room near the engines. Inside there was a washer, dryer, and a shelf with soaps and dyes. He pulled a black dye pouch and emptied its contents into the washer along with some dye-friendly soap and the clothes. Once he closed it and hit it to wash, he registered the potent scent of menthol.

He finished his chore-project for the hyperspace travel and grabbed some shoe polish and a brush, and began shining his newly acquired boots. They nearly looked like pictures of Imperial officers that he'd seen, with some obvious differences. After all, these weren't Imperial boots. By the time Luna came out, he was applying the final buff to his boots for that glossy shine and the alarm for exiting hyperspace sounded. He went over to the cockpit and set the Morvak to land on an uninhabited moon. He heard his guest call out for him, so he went out and greeted her, only to see Luna in a new light. Before him was no longer the stressed and dirty woman who appeared to be on the border of condemnation. Cleaned up and with less rainbow to her hair, she was actually... he took his mind off of the curves and hugs the clothes gave her, leaned pseudo-casually against the wall to hide what his thin pants could not on their own. He'd never had 'normal' teenage years, so the attraction was alien to him and a bit concerning. He caught himself staring and snapped out of it, then answered her question.

"The washer, is in the back of the ship near the engines. Just dump your clothes to the side unless you don't mind them being dyed black." he commented, making his new friend aware that the washer was occupied, and adding her clothes to the mix would make them quite dark.

"As for something that fits, what you have on is quite nice, isn't it?" he suggested casually, then gave a little laugh and walked past her with a 'come on' gesture, "There's a closet between quarters that's stocked with spare clothing. There should be something you'll be more keen on in there." he said as he showed her the way. His mind was conflicting with thoughts dwelling on Luna and a mental list of what to check on the ship.

"Buggar you, I migh' as well wander 'round 'ere naked," she shifted uneasily on her bare feet, clutching her dirty pile of clothes to hide what the shirt lacked. "Doona be daft, Artamis." Gray eyes narrowed, but there was no trace of venom there. Luna laughed then and would have patted his cheek if the act alone would not cause her to drop what she had. "....'least it coovers wut needs ta be coovered."

For all that she could have done, she could not hide the embarrassment of her face. Cheeks were flushed, her eyes not able to make any meaningful contact, and she had this habit where she chewed on her lip. Fill the silence, she told herself. You do owe him, ya knoow. Just to shut up her own mind rambling, the pirate feigned a smile.

"Lead teh way, ohh capt'n, mah capt'n," she followed after him, trying to remember the steps taken to get where they were going. There was a good sized pile, Vega noted, and handed of her own to Artamis with out even thinking. She began going through it, tossing things too small and equally too large to the side. She felt as if she were dumpster diving, as she was halfway in the closet. All men's, no sign of a skirt or a blouse tailored for a woman.

It had dawned on her just then, as to where the crew was. Their things were here and yet, she had not spied a peep of anyone else aboard. "Say, whar is eve'body anywaay?" Luna glanced at him over her shoulder.

Artamis liked the idea of her wandering around naked. He shook the thought off and mentally slapped himself.

"Ah, it's just me for now," he explained, taking a pause to catch a flying shirt before continuing, "I was crew aboard another ship, but he sent me on a bit of a mission, though I suspect he had more reasons that I know for doing it..." he trailed off in thought before recollecting himself and finishing his story, "At any rate, the ship's designed to only need a one-man crew, so here I am. I'd only been roaming space on my own for a day before I came to your little slice of heaven." he finished with obvious sarcasm, and he was happy to be off that rock.

As far as Luna's clothes went, he held them for a few moments before pulling a small cart out of the bottom of the closet with his foot (it was merely a small basket with wheels), and dumped the dirty clothes in there. Happily, the awkwardness that permeated minutes prior had gone, and he was able to stand normally. He peered over Luna's shoulder and gave an almost inaudible sigh. Make should have known he'd find some kind of drew, and stocked more effectively. He shook his head, then remembered that the cargo hold had some extra clothes stuffed in crates and the like.

"I'm going to check the cargo holds. There's a few extra things in there, and if I find anything for women I'll shout." he said before jogging down the hall to one of the two cargo holds. He started rummaging through the barrels, crates, shelves, all manner of things. Eventually he found a couple of shits, pants, and a jacket that look like they might have been made for women, and a blouse and skirt that definitely were women's clothing.

"Oy, Luna! Come see if this fits!" he called out, then went about inspecting this cargo hold for anything unusual.

The heap of "forgotten" about or disregarded clothes came to her chin. She sighed, breath blowing strands of hair from her eyes. Luna held up a shirt and pants identical to what she was already wearing, then tossed it, deciding it looked to be the same size. Upon hearing her name called, she tumbled and skittered  over the mass of everything-that-did-not-fit. She eyed it in disgust and made way to Artamis' voice.

Things were strewn everywhere, clothes, books, baggage and her new ... Captain slap-dab in the middle of it. "Doona ya get to use'ta order'an meh aroun'," she smirked, leaning in close to his face. Vega blinked and stole away to the things he had called her in for... that and she thought she spotted leather.

"Hav'ya came 'cross any cigas?" smiling prettily, she batted her lashed. The pirate had the stinkin' notion he didn't like the smoke... She could always enjoy one in the refresher though, she decided. "Any whiskey?" The mere thought made her mouth water. Luna was living on a prayer there.

On the up and up though, she had spotted leather. It was not a blazer like she had thought, but pants. She had also found a red tank, a pair of black shit kickers and a full length jacket.  Before changing, she shot a curious glance over her shoulder at him. He was busy milling through cargo, otherwise occupied at the other end of the room, when she shimmied off her pants and slipped into the leather leggings. The red tank was next after she flung off her shirt, letting the soft fabric conform over her breasts and then her stomach. She tugged and then nodded in approval. It'll go good with my holsters, she thought and nodded to herself.

"Find anythin' of int'rest?" added Luna as she slipped into the boots and promptly pulled on the laces to one.