in the shuttle bay | closed

[psychometry]

CHARACTERS: Quinlan (psychometry) and Riddick (20mentholkools)
LOCATION: the shuttle bay
WARNINGS: uhhhh n/a
SUMMARY: One rather large and rugged fellow linefaces at another rather large and rugged fellow out of attempting to steal a shuttle.
NOTES: because in cross-canon cr terms this is pretty cool, okay

In the grand scheme of things waking up on an unknown starship set on a course of unknown co-ordinates was not the strangest thing to have ever happened to Quinlan Vos. He had certainly woken up in much stranger circumstances and in all fairness most of those had involved a great deal more people trying to kill him. The Tranquility was unusual only in its complete lack of violently murderous sentiment directed towards him - a change that Quinlan was only too reluctant to complain about.

That said, there were other niggling little disturbances that left him feeling far from relaxed in his new environment. The way that the ship felt beneath his hands was unsettlingly different - never had Quinlan been unable to get a psychometric reading from anything so obviously full of life and history. The vast, blank nothingness of the ship's memory was unlike nothing he had encountered before - usually there was at least something residing in the metal memory of a ship: the memory of stars and solar winds, long resounding vibrations of impact shots in battle or the ghostly imprints of past crewmembers. The realisation that the ship should still bear the imprints of its current passengers - still very much alive and kicking as Quinlan swiftly made his way from the passenger decks and in to the bowels of the ship – instead of this chilling nothingness was definitely a new and unpleasant experience.

Another little problem was the make-up of the ship itself. Completely unrecognisable for the most part, with no make or model number that Quinlan could pin on down to a planet registration. Surely then it was a civilian ship from beyond the Outer Rim territories, or so Quinlan reasoned - it was too large (and too clean) to be an unlicensed criminal ship. Not that that was any comfort. Quinlan would at least be on familiar grounds had he found himself on, say, a bounty-hunter ship. Dealing with new and unknown civilisations (no matter how rude their method of bringing on board passengers) called for a need to step carefully, and Quinlan hadn't exactly been very light of foot lately.

But less than an hour after reclaiming his clothes and his lightsaber from his new locker, Quinlan had stealthily set forth towards the shuttle bay. The weapon - seemingly an unassuming hilt, nothing more - remained at his belt and within reaching distance despite the fact that Quinlan knew that he didn’t want to use it. The shuttle bay itself, cavernous and dark, was a welcome sight if only for the one or two shuttles that actually seemed to be in working order. These would surely be his best chance of returning to the Republic. This ship, with its vaulted ceilings and peculiar passengers, was not part of his current mission. With a leap of triumph in his chest Quinlan paused only for a moment to pick a likely looking specimen before quickly scaling the side.

Comments

[20mentholkools]

[Frustration. Riddick can understand that. Ten months and he should be gone by now, should have been gone a long time ago. But he knew, some places took longer to find a way out than others. Patience was necessary, waiting for the right opportunity, the right information. Slotting all the pieces together.]

Always a need. [He flips the blade (it isn't quite a blade, yet, needs binding around the rough end to work as a handle. A scrap of torn fabric from somewhere, sealed down with the sealants they use).] Just a matter of time.

[He hadn't needed them, not for a while. Not the way he was used to. Demons, fear toxin, the fog and all the personalised hells it had contained. But he knew the universe, knew how this went. You didn't have a weapon ready, you were just waiting to die.]

[psychometry]

[ The response leaves him cold but there's something there he can agree with on principle - even though he knows that he shouldn't. It's a product of long years lost to the depths of his missions and immersing himself in the tasks that his master - a shadow himself, now the ringmaster of the galaxy-wide Jedi spy networks - has given him. Instead of arguing - instead of doing what any good Jedi might do and gently spit a pearl of wisdom - he nods fractionally. The stranger's response hadn't been no, after all - and it doesn't take a Jedi to realise that this was a man who had seen his fair share of situations involving melee weapons.

He passes his hand back over the desk controls again - touching a button here and there, interpreting the foreign displays and commands as best he could and applying a little common sense for good measure. ]

No astromech droids, no flight data. [ a beat, and then a curious look up at the other man as Quinlan asks, louder than before: ] What kind of ship is this?

[20mentholkools]

Colonization, original design. [That's what they liked to say, anyway, and it matched well enough. The huge amount of people the ship should have contained. But now there were only two crew and a few hundred confused, unwilling passengers.]

Better to think ghost.

[He doesn't mean haunted, even with all the shit that happens. He means a drifting wreck, damaged systems and no crew. Back in his universe, it would have been abandoned already, crawled over by scavengers multiple times, ripping out parts for salvage. Two crew attempting to keep powering it through whatever course it had originally been set on was madness, but he's getting some idea of why they were sticking around.]

[psychometry]

[ This far out in to the reaches of wild space (for that's where they must be, as far as Quinlan is concerned) to be on a ghost ship was tantamount to being on a dead ship. His expression betrays his thoughts for once, lips parting in a slack frown and dark brows creasing over. Derelict and doomed ships that strayed too far in to the dark patches of the unknown and lost their way wasn't all that unusual - especially when it came to colonisation. Deep space missions often came with the caveat that it might just be a one-way trip. ]

Original passengers?

[20mentholkools]

[It's the first time the guy's looked surprised, but whether that's a matter of him previously holding a good poker face or the depth of the shit he'd found himself in finally making itself clear, Riddick doesn't try to guess.]

Two crew. [He doesn't include the smile. If that was another crew member, an original passenger, something else.] What happened to the rest... [The knife turns over in his fingers again, and his gaze shifts slightly, out and over the shuttles to one in particular, and then back again.] Getting drip fed pieces of that picture.