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sunsetlobster · 20 days ago

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To Satiate a Hunger part 9

Authors: Myself and @sovietstrange45

Summary: Finding an appropriate stop on the brink of starvation, A Night lord War band ransacks Ghilana for every morsel of food and fuel they have. In the process, Ladomir an ex-terror squad member stumbles upon one thing they've been sorely needing.

Warnings: Slow burn, Self harm, horror themes, blood, implied violence, forced proximity, Ladomir has a blood kink, the writing structure is a raw cut from what was originally written so apologies for any weirdness there ><

Word Count: 4.9k

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The faint muffled sound of a horn cries from the deck above dragging away the inhabitants of the sanctum to its shrill cries as a violent shudder and sway overtook the vessel sending Sneh flying onto the floor. “What was—“The horse cries and revs of chain swords hummed from the distant above as the realisation dawned on her and Beegee.

There was screaming, shouting, violent cries of a modulated variety and there they were. Running. "I'm coming!" he shouted into his vox to Kolvare as he dashed up the stairs with Sneh, the court of cultists in toe to cover them as they all hurried trying their best to go at the baselines pace.

The thunder hawks had near crashed into the docking bay in their haste. Not a word shared between the brother understandable in any way as they all shouted and cursed over one another. "The hell was taking you, you're slow!" Kordarin shouted, clambering inside of the craft amongst his claws.

"We nearly burned our damn engine out getting here at that speed!" The pilot hissed, barely wipping his gaze back to see which of his fellow traitors had the mouth.

"Both of you, keep your damn mouths shut. We're knee deep in shit, and you take the time to bicker, move!" Sar'val barked, smacking his balled fist against the side of the metal walls enclosing them.

Ladomir stayed his tongue, a burning statue with a look that could kill. The haft of his weapon clutched so tightly within his fingers there was a genuine fear of snapping the damned thing. It was at a time like this he was grateful none of them could see the face behind the skull. The sheer anger and fury taking his every feature and stitching it into a fine malice wouldn't have been a surprise. The worry and anxiety that tool his brow and weighed it heavily, and sat in the back of his black, lightless eyes, that would've drawn confusion. If they even had the time to focus at least.

There was nothing else to view now but the empty void they were rocketing into. The old ships whining and protesting, threatening them with the possibility of metal stripping and flying off the frame if pushed too hard. Unable to do anything as they watched the pods blow past the shields and slam into the old hull of the ancient ship. Metal shrapnel flying from their points of impact as the thunder hawks barely managed to crest their way into the hanger bay.

As they crossed the threshold into the chapel the sound of chain swords revving was dreadfully clear. “Ready yourselves.” He uttered holding his like tight as a small group of yellow and blue marines charged into the heretic’s place of worship.

“Traitor!” The one in the front cried, a bolter at his hip as his swords teeth cried for blood.

“Ignorant.” Beegee returned as his gaze shifted, and he sucked in a warped breath before the hum of a tune hit his lips and he smiled to frustration of the lancers who’d come to right such traitors act of heresy. “May your god be with you.” Beegee uttered be for the two groups waged war on one and other, Sneh all the while hid in the entry to the staircase with her hands over her ears as the morbid cries of death sprung into the air accompanied by an all too jovial song.

The landings were not smooth by any stretch of the imagination, the flight itself was a mistake away from ending in the explosion of both craft from sheer mechanical failure. Let alone the bombardment they willingly flung themselves toward in getting closer again to the Bloody Screech.

For a smaller striker cruiser, it was putting on a bombardment equal to what they would've achieved. Efficient in always from the surprise nature of the strike, and even down to the meticulous shot placement of their lancing strikes. What little shields the Screech could hold up, would not for long if they kept up such a horrid assault. It was only by the time the thunder hawks screeched across the metal deck of the bay that they could hear the gun batteries of their own begin their retaliation.

The cough of a dying god bellowing out once again as it spat hellfire back at the opposing force. If the gang ramp had not opened any sooner Ladomir was sure he would've broken the pistons it operated on and forced the damned thing open himself. Third and Fourth Claw could not he out any sooner either, near shoving one another as the pilots grasped their bolters and followed suit.

"Where's the fighting?" Kordarin hissed, checking the mag on his bolt pistol, ceramite knuckles clenched tightly around the haft of his axe.

"Don't know, can't get a damn signal!" Haliska of Third Claw cursed, trying the vox without much success.

"Damn the vox, we'll just have to find the fight ourselves!" Sar'val barked already stomping his way to the winding halls. Though not without catching eye of how Ladomir was already beginning to high tail it the way opposite of them.

"The hell are you going whoreson!? The command deck is this way!" Sar'val jutted his chain-sword out at the headsman, cursing as his brother didn't even bother to turn a gaze.

"You know where you are needed, and I know where I am."

Ladomir returned, posture low and hunched, like some deranged animal as his glaive rested in tight clutched palms, carrying his form down the halls.

"Bastard coward, get back here!"

Ladomir's voice crackled over the vox, no humour left to give. "Say what you want, but I bet I will have collected more heads than you by the end of this."

The Claws said nothing more, barrelling down their way as they split. 'The chapel, the chapel, the chapel.' Ladomir repeated within his mind like a mantra. Trying to navigate the twisting halls and hostile walls he called home. His voice crackled over the comes, hoping to catch anything. "Beegee? Beegee answer!"

It was gruesome, the sound of metal and flesh warping and being cut down or rendered come with the al consuming heat of a spell. At least that’s what Sneh pictured as she hid down the stairs behind the door with her ears covered. Then a form slammed against the wall, a marine of blue and yellow thrashed and half dead slumped against the wall when she looked at him from the crack in the door. And he too looked back. A dying demi-god was still a demi-god even if he lurched in his frightful approach. His intent all too hidden under the yellow and blue helmet.

"Damn it!" Ladomir hissed, finally giving up on the blasted vox channel as he continued to bound on down the hallways. He'd have no choice but to make it as quickly as he could to the chapel if he had any hope of aiding the fight. Or in the worst possible scenario, avenge that which needed blood paid.

Nearly slipping around the next corner as he rounded it, Ladomir slammed his hand against the metal wall. Fingers curling around the corner as he pulled himself about, heavy thuds bringing him forward like the rolling tides of a thunderstorm rapidly approaching- and then he skidded to a halt.

Glaive clutched tightly in both hands, a curse on his lips, and ruby eyes that burned into the squad of Astartes standing before him in the hall. The one in front, his helmet red with a white stripe down the middle, raised a bolt pistol at him. A power sad sat snug in his other hand, and the squad began to approach in unison.

"Veteran sergeant Sisera of squad Thraxus, third company of the Bright Lancers, proud sons of Gulliman! You meet your end here, traitor."

A spear pierced his neck, cutting it clean off. No, not a spear, a pike. Then a clawed surely foot came to press down on the head of the loyalist as he grabbed the pike from the ground.

"Come little one, we must hurry." Beegee said calm as ever with that signature unkempt crooked smile of his and a hand laid out to her

With every step they took forward, Ladomir took one back. His helmet darted between each and every one trying to assess his chances.

"Bastards of Gulliman?" Ladmoir barked, forcing out a laugh as he readied the glaive. "I don't believe your chapter was at Tsagualsa when they broke the rest of my legion. You must be the newer thin blood curs then. Oh, how disappointed your Daddy would be in you all if he could see you now." He was stalling, trying to buy time he knew he didn't have. Ladomir knew that all too well, but he had little other choice given just how unfavourable the odds seemed to favour him now.

"Traitors have no room to speak of pride." Sisera scoffed, his other hand clutching a power sword. The blue ceramite thumb flicking the power, allowing energy to crackle and light ablaze, setting Ladomir's teeth on edge. It's handle was a brilliant craftswork. The melding colours of blue, white, and gold, and he could see a matching one lay on the hip of the marine closest to the sergeant. Against all odds, Ladomir tried the vox once again.

"Kolvare? Kolvare do you read?"

"La- mir- wher- yo-?" The connection was choppy, but he hoped he could brute force something intelligible, for long enough at least. "Kolvare!" He hissed within the solitude of his helmet, increasingly aware of how the wall was approaching his back with every step. "Ladomir? -domir what is the situation?"

"No time, turn off gravity simulators on my mark."

"What? -at will be -our mark?" The captains voice crackled incredulously over the shaky comms. "When I click back into the vox net."

Ladomir returned, before letting the connection go, for now. "I was the headsman of a Night Lords terror squad, they're all dead now, long lost to time with only my memory to remain. The last one to leave me, died at the hands of your esteemed parent chapter in a skirmish back in the great heresy. Do you know what his last words were?"

"What I reckon yours will be." The marine beside Sisera hissed, pulling the sword from his hip and activating its power field, while the veteran sergeant's bolt pistol readied at his bat faced helm. Ladomir grinned, mag locking himself rigid to the floor, flicking his finger against the activation switch of his chain-glaive as he became rooted and rigid to the floor. Finally, he flickered back into the vox network.

"Ave Dominus Nox, I have come for you." In an instant, all gravity gave way under the feet of all aboard the ship.

They were running, bolting down the thin hall, the sound of violent commotions happening all around them as Sneh and Beegee respectively did their best not to trip over the lips of the doors. Then they didn’t need to, and Sneh cried out in a panic as they began to float.

“Beegee! Beegee what is happening!?” She cried as the old fool turned to her and watched as she tumbled forward, panic smeared into her face. “War is happening.” He returned before the glint of blue and yellow crossed his gaze behind the serf. Far, far in the distance but still far too close.

The moment the floor was lost for them, the sergeant's bolt pistol cracked with fire. Sensing a round flying for the traitor, only to glance off his shoulder and detonate against the metal hull. The next few shots that cracked out were even less fruitful, having the aim be thrown askew at the deprivation of centre gravity.

In a swift moment Ladomir had dashed toward the bundle of floating Astartes and swing upward to let his chain-glaive stick into the elbow of Sisera's arm. Relishing in the yell he let out as it gnawed through the black undershirt and then flesh and bone.

It glanced off the elbow pad as it went out the other end, but at that rate it wasn't needed and the arm holding his pistol was floating away with a sick trail of ichor to follow. The moments that followed were equal amounts of chaos.

The plan had succeeded, and Ladomir had no manner of which to take them down. Only one thought bounced around his old mind, kill as many as he could.

The other marine with the sword had shoved against his squad leader and was too far to reach conveniently. So, dashing past Ladomir managed to whirl his glaive around his form and bring it up in a mad slash that threw the spinning blades into the guts of another. He stood and thrust upward with one hand, allowing the chains to do the work alone, mulching the Space Marine's innards.

Spraying and splaying out into the open, graviteless air. With a growl he yanked his staff back, taking just the moment to acknowledge how the body now floated limp, grinding against the ceiling like the baselines he'd slaughtered earlier.

The thought made him falter, just barely, but he did. A shot cracked out at him from the man ahead, and the headsman was only thankful it grazed his chest plate. Sparked back to reality, he continued his mad dash. Disengaging his mag lock he leapt forward. Crashing into the marine he grasped the wrist with the bolt pistol, re-engaging his magnetic locks, and twirling them about so he slammed the yellow-blue soldier hard into the metal grating.

The weapon knocked from his foes hand, and receiving in turn a clawed ceramite clad boot stomping down into his chest. Tossing his glaive into his off-hand, Ladomir pulled his own pistol. Gaze snapping in an instant to the last man in his singular trail of attack. Within an instant he'd aimed the pistol and squeezed the trigger.

Sending bolt after bolt round into his target. Each punch and detonation on ceramite and pushing the marine further and further away, until the final round within the magazine detonated against his flank.

Catching on the black undersuit and detonating within a meatier target than ceramite. Turning on the man under heal, he pulled the trigger. Met with a click, Ladomir tossed it and quickly swiped the whirring blades of his glaive across the Lancers' neck, near severing it as he ended the man's life below his very feet.

"Enough with your vague ramblings!" Sneh shouted as she floated upward slowly, far too slowly for the creatures that tumbled behind now trying to slowly make their way toward him as they too regained their balance and began to quickly swim through the air, pushing themselves along on the pipes and ceiling lips.

The skulled visage snapped upward quickly, toward the one marine he hadn't been able to land a single finger upon. Before he could think of his next move, the gravity suddenly inverted once again. Returning to some semblance of natural space. In response bodies fell all around the Night Lord. Blood and viscera now splattering and scattering like dice over a tabletop as it all came crashing down from where it had been suspended from his rampage.

It blanketed Ladomir's vision, taking precious seconds, he refused to let waste away. With a grunt he stomps forward, leaving behind the body he'd perched upon.

Seeing the last marine, having slammed back into the floor, now trying to raise to his feet quick as he could. Ladomir could not allow this delay to hinder him any further. With a yell he whipped the glaive around his form, raising it above his head and pulling it down. Aimed for the back of the man's neck.

The whirring teeth caught on the edge of a power field as a blade intercepted the blow. Ladomir locked eyes with the kneeling man through their helmets, then turned to see the veteran sergeant, sword wielded on one hand, as the stump of his arm bled onto the decking.

Before he could react Sisera yanked his head back and rocketed his helmet into the skull’s forehead. Causing the Night Lord to stumble away, barely deflecting the next blow that came from the power sword.

Regaining his footing he stood there, glaive readied as he gazed upon the man who refused to die, as the marine beside him returned to his fest. Standing alongside him, he pulled the sword from his hip and engaged the power field.

Sneh hit the ground hard and let out a pained grunt in turn as a heavy pounding alerted her to the very present threat that now began to bound toward them with fury unknown. Beegee grimaced as he turned and motioned for the little baseline to run as they came charging, swords ready to rip flesh from bone and heresy from sinners. So, he began to bound back toward her as the lancer wound up to strike. all the while Sneh clambered to her feet, all sound cutting out as well as her vision as her legs gave out under her.

Ladomir hissed, holding his weapon low, ready to snap forward at a moment’s notice. A tense silence fell over the air, neither one wanting to make the first move. The only noise being the whirring cry of his glaive teeth, and the electric crackling whine of the power fields making his gums ache.

With a snarl, he quickly yanked the clasp situated over his chest piece. Causing the cumbersome jet pack to slip from his broad form, crashing into the metal floor below.

"Prey sight." The words fell from his lips, just before the uninjured Lancer launched himself forward, bursting forth with a lunge that poised the tip of his blade at the adorned mark IV chest piece. Immediately he swung his glaive upward, smacking the blade aside. Stabbing forward the blunt end struck the marine in the chest, making him step back, giving the Night Lord enough time to deflect the next blow that came from Sisera on his back swing.

Batting aside the sword with the flat of his chain-glaives housing. In the same motion he swung the end of the steel haft downward to strike the veteran's helmet. The sound of ceramite clashing hard against ceramite rang out right after as his boot collided with Sisera's stomach. As the veteran sergeant crashed into the wall Ladomir was forced to spin on his heels.

Swinging his glaive around his body to slam into the downward cut falling toward him. Knocking it aside as he brought the glaive downward, its teeth catching and sparking against the shoulder pad of the Lancer. Another backwards kick sent Sisera back into the wall as he tried to ready another strike.

Taking one hand off the haft, he thrust the glaive upward along the outside of Sisera's remaining arm. With speed unmatched he grasped it again with his other hand on the opposite side and yanked his grip violently as he twisted the haft. To the veteran sergeant's credit, he refused to give up his blade in any respect. So Ladomir had no choice but to twist him around. Swapping where they stood and using his leverage to charge forward and shove Sisera's form into his fellow Lancer. Slamming both Astartes against the wall with a loud crash.

Blackness, it was always blackness, a pale horse, a masked rider with black flowing hair, he jumped down cupping her with his warm palms. The latch of the well-loved helm lifted just enough to let him speak but not enough for her to see inside. Then he dove close, hiding her in his dark shroud like a predator as he leant in but not for a kiss.

“Rest.” He uttered in a tongue lost to time, rubbing her cheek as he pressed his helmeted forehead to her own and once more Sneh returned to the dark.

For a time, all composure was lost. Three armoured forms barely a foot away from one another as they scrapped. The two Lancers trying to separate as quickly as possible. Ladomir tried to work against them of course, but it couldn't last forever.

They managed to split from being practically atop one another, but the Night Lord refused to let them gain any more significant ground. He was at a disadvantage now this close, so he struck his haft into Sisera's helmet, just as quickly snapping his head forward to slam into the helm of the other. The collision of helms rang out and the other head snapped back. Frantic he took a hand-off his glaive once again. Balling into a fist as it swung into the cermaite jaw of Sisera, causing his foot to falter.

A snarl ripped through Ladomir's throat, being mangled horrifically by his vox as he yanked his fist back to strike against the jaw of the other in turn. No thoughts entered Ladomir's mind. An action called his limbs to move, and they did on instinct. There was no time to think here, not when death was just as close as victory.

Raising his foot he stomped into Astarte's knee. It was shoddy and glanced off the knee plate. The second strike landed and sent the man to his knees with a harsh velocity. The moment he was down, the traitor sent an armoured boot into Sisera's chest once again.

Sending him stumbling as he quickly raised his glaive, swiping messily in a swift cut, that had the many whirring teeth of his chain-glaive crying viciously as they swiped across the meet of the veteran sergeant's neck. Blood splattering and spitting about as it graced the teeth. The sword finally fell from his hands and the armoured form of the squad’s leader collapsed onto the floor with a crash.

The vibrant yellow and blue of his armor marred by crimson. Turning on his heels Ladomir went to strike at the kneeling figure but was nearly met with the tip of his sword stabbing into his gut. Just barely butting it away with his haft he quickly stepped back. The marine lunged forward again, raising to his feet as he extended the sword one handed. With the increased reach the Night Lord had no choice but to make a mad escape backward again.

With that success, the Lancer quickly reached for his fallen leader's blade. Ladomir struck his glaive downward trying to snipe his hand, but he was to slow. Blue ceramite clad fingers gripped the master crafted handle, yanking the blade back as he stood proud. The glaives teeth grinding into the metal decking, alluded by its target. Pulling his weapon back, the lifeless gaze of Ladomir's ruby red eye lenses met the warrior. Chain-glaive held in with hands, rested against his shoulder in a poised strike, met by the valiant stand of the Lancer, sword in both hands, one pointed straight for his foe's chest as they stood in equal threat to one another.

“Brother!” A crackled voice called from the vox as Ladomir laid near deaths door. “Brother!”

"What?" Ladomir hissed back over the vox, eyes trained on the figure before him. Neither one wanting to make the first move as the respective noises of their weapons fought for dominance in the air. He could not see the man behind that yellow-blue helmet, but he could feel the seething hate underneath it, poised at any moment to be unleashed upon the Night Lord. This had already taken too long.

“The little one!” Beege rasped as the sound of sprinting echoed his vox, “I’m taking the little one to Brother Apothecarian!” Without as much as another word, the vox cut out and Ladomir was left alone caught in the tension of his present circumstance.

Without second thought the whirring teeth of his glaive spun forward. All reservation lost as he dashed in for the attack, being batted away by one sword, and the other being thrust at him. Pushing on he let the blade catch and sheer against the trim of his pauldron. Taking a step backward as he yanked his glaive back, the teeth biting against the ceramite and chipping paint with the gouges it left. Yet still not the blow he wished to end the fight with.

"What's your name traitor!?" The man spat, keeping the momentum as he swung upward. Forcing Ladomir to sidestep the attack, moving to riposte, but having to change course and parry a stab with the haft of his weapon.

"I'll inscribe it into this blade after I kill you!"

"Ladomir Varsalen! And you will adorn my armour if you delay me further!" He barked, moving to kick at the Lancer, but the marine was expecting it this time. Stabbing downward, catching into the skin chaps he wore and gouging a wound in the ceramite encasing his calf. The Night Lord cursed, and a yellow clad fist collided with his face plate, sending him stumbling back.

"I am Julius of the Bright Lancers, and you will answer for the deaths of squad Thraxus!"

"Stop talking!" The traitor hissed, a howl of rage ripping through his body as he brought his glaive up. Poising to strike once again, and again, Julius was just that bit quicker. His power sword hacking at the haft of the Nostraman weapon. Ladomir fended it off, but before he could retaliate the other sword swung into the metal.

Over and over again the onslaught had the Night Lord forced back, holding onto his weapon with a tight desperation as the high whining cry of its teeth seemed to mirror the damage it suffered in the onslaught. Until, eventually, with a great crackle of energy from the swords, it split under the stress. The edge of his blade biting and slicing down the ancient chest plate Ladomir bore. Guard utterly shattered as he held two ends of a near useless weapon on both hands.

The flurry of attacks didn't let up. Another slice dug into the skull of his face plate, catching at the middle of his forehead and slicing all the way to the brow of the bat skull. The traitor stumbled back, narrowly missing the next strike that aimed for his head. Instead slicing away one of the bat wings adorning his helm. Sending it clattering away into the dark.

A stab pierced through his skirt of skin, missing its target as it landed in the macabre veil, and tearing a large gash of flayed skin away as he yanked the sword back. Once again, a downward cut aimed for his head was narrowly deflected. Ladomir's gauntlet catching, and just barely shoving it aside before it could dig into the meat beneath. Finally, as he poised his dual power weapons, Ladomir made his move.

Tossing aside the haft of his ruined weapon, he flung himself crudely at the man. Catching him at the apex of his swing, crashing into his chest, wrapping his freed arm around his waist. Although one end was nothing but a handle, the cut had not destroyed the engine to his chain-glaive. Not nearly as effective as it used to be, Ladomir still wielded what amounted to a whirring machete. Without wait he swiped it across the inside of Julius' knee, sending him down to them.

The swords clattered against the decking as he found the balance turned once more.

His dual-coloured hands clawed at the Night Lord, ripping at his tabard while Ladomir pulled back well enough to swing his dishevelled weapon down in a vicious hack. The terrible sound of bladed teeth whirring and grinding against ceramite sent sparks flying around the black hallway.

Lighting it greater than it may well ever had been in all it's years of existence. The blades whirring against the face plate of Julius' helmet, vying desperately to dig in and carve its way through the division laid out by his armours colour split. Ladomir let out another mighty roar as he sawed the weapon, trying to cut his way into the man underneath.

All sound drowned out but the horrible screech of chain teeth and the sparks lighting his vision ablaze. Julius' hands desperately scrambled for anything to stop the onslaught before the inside of his helm was painted with gore. Just before the teeth could break through, he grasped an ornate handle and frantically stabbed toward his foe.

The glaive fell from Ladomir's hand as he let out a cry.

The power sword lodged into his thigh just enough to bypass ceramite and stab the tip into the meat of his muscle. Out of pure instinct he clenched his fist and swung the back of it against the jaw of the man before him. Letting it crack against his jaw and sending the man sprawling back. Panting like a beast, he grits his teeth as he yanked the blade out of his leg.

Raising it above his head, Ladomir went to strike the killing blow, but nearly tumbled off balance and fell atop the Lancer instead. With a growl he stabbed the sword into decking for support, and his eyes lit ablaze with fear as he remembers the vox Beegee had barely managed to cast over the static.

Ignoring Julius, he pulled the sword from the metal and flung himself against the wall. Propping himself against it, as he hurriedly limped his way down the hall.

Ignoring the burning fire within his thigh as his body began to clot and stitch itself together again as he rushed to the apothecary as fast as his injury would allow him.

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#warhammer 40k #warhammer ocs #night lords #ladosnehr #space marines #oc x oc roleplay #oc x oc ship #rp writing

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hemoglobinjuicebox · 4 months ago

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Bloodweave and Cyberpunk got me, so here's a teaser of a fic I'm writing

Warnings: Surgery, alluded to/implied Cazador-typical abuse

“I’m sorry, you want me to give you what kind of implant?”

Astarion sat up from the cushioned table, plucked a scalpel from the tray, and twirled it between his silver-plated fingers. It wove over and under his knuckles like a cold needle through hot skin. “Humor me for a minute, Gale. Don’t give yourself a heart attack. It can’t be as awful an idea as you’re making it sound like.”

All that Gale could do was stare slack-jawed and wide-eyed. The fan in his chest whirred like a jet engine, filling the clinic with its raucous rumble and clatter of metal on metal. The dim fluorescent lights shuddered overhead, their grey hues trading briefly with the dark. Perhaps he needed to tune his auditory processors or check his linguistics module. He tinkered with it last week to understand the manual of a new part he had acquired. For as well-educated as he was, Gale understood barely a word of anything but English, and the manual was entirely in Infernal. It was completely possible that he had crossed his wires and was receiving Astarion’s nonsense as words that formed a coherent sentence.

But that wasn’t the case. Gale knew it. “I just don’t believe you understand the severity of the operation you’re asking me to perform on your brain. I would have to cut a hole the size of a grapefruit through the front of your skull, dig through all of that lovely fat and nerve tissue—which could leave you completely paralyzed if I touch something I shouldn’t—then rip out all of the hardware and implant a brand new system that is compatible with your operating system that hasn’t been updated in thirty years. Thirty years, Astarion!”

“So? If Cazador could do it all by his horrid self, then you can, too.” He put the blade of the scalpel just over his left brow, slicing through a loose lock of snow-white hair. “Could you make the cut here? My right is my best side.”

“Give me that!” Gale pulled the scalpel away and dropped it back in the tray. “Astarion, be serious.”

Pallid lips pressed into a hard, thin line. Luminescent crimson eyes flickered under dark lashes. “I am serious. This is my only option, Gale. It’s you, or it’s back to the goddamn kennel.”

Gale didn’t want to know what the kennel was. He feared it would short circuit his circulatory system, destroy the resistor of the uranium battery series in his upper chambers, and blow up half of Baldur’s Gate. With a heavy breath and a trembling hand on his forehead, he gave his reply:

“I’ll do it. Lay back.”

#astarion #bg3 gale #bg3 astarion #cyberpunk au #bloodweave #eventually...#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #gale dekarios #astarion ancunin

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exceptionally-minded · 6 months ago

Note

Can you yap about something that excites you at the moment?

I miss your yapping

Ah, well, if you insist, I’d be delighted to oblige! Let’s talk about the fascinating interplay of ion engines in starship propulsion—something I’ve been tinkering with lately. Most standard starships utilize ion drives to achieve sublight speeds, relying on highly ionized particles to create thrust. Essentially, these drives generate a plasma by stripping electrons from inert gases like xenon and expelling the resultant ions through electromagnetic fields. The result forces a stream of highly charged particles through the engine's exhaust port at nearly the speed of light. The process is incredibly efficient, requiring minimal fuel compared to traditional chemical rockets.

Moreover, with some fine-tuning—say, modulating the magnetic confinement fields or incorporating a particle accelerator—you could theoretically amplify the thrust output by over 12%. It would revolutionize starship mobility. Of course, Wrecker's only comment was, “Does it make us go faster?” and Crosshair sneered, “Sounds loud.” Philistines.

#ion engines #tech talk #thank you for coming to my tech talk

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bodyalive · 5 days ago

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They taught you the heart was just a glorified meat pump. That it squeezes and pushes blood like some crude mechanical device. A hydraulic engine made of flesh. That is what they want you to believe. Because if you buy into that primitive lie, you never ask deeper questions.

But it is false. It has always been false. And the real science proves it.

Dr Francisco Torrent-Guasp, a Spanish cardiac researcher, discovered what the textbooks refuse to acknowledge, that the heart is not a pump. He dissected thousands of hearts and found that the heart is a single continuous muscle band, folded into a spiral. He proved the heart works like a vortex generator, creating suction and torque, not pressure.

He called it the Helical Ventricular Myocardial Band and it changes everything.

The real movement of blood comes from pressure differentials, electromagnetic flow, and coherent resonance. The blood spirals naturally. It does not need to be forced through miles of arteries and capillaries. That idea is beyond stupid. The so-called pump is not strong enough to push thick fluid through 60,000 miles of tubing. That is basic physics. That lie was dead on arrival.

Here is the truth. Blood moves before the heart forms in the embryo. It flows via frequency, resonance, and electric charge. The body is a field, not a factory.

Your heart creates a toroidal electromagnetic field that radiates six metres from the body. This field syncs with the Earth, the Sun, and every living being around you. It is a resonator. A tuner. A conductor. It aligns the rhythm of your cells. It feels. It remembers. It emits. And it responds to emotion, thought, light, sound, and breath.

When you feel love, grief, fear, or peace, your heart transmits it. It is the central frequency modulator of your biology. Not a fucking pump.

And the institutions know this. The HeartMath Institute has measured these fields for decades. They know the heart has more neuronal cells than parts of the brain. They know it is a second brain. They know coherence in the heart transforms the entire nervous system.

So why are they still teaching children a 400-year-old guess from William Harvey that has never been updated?

Because if you knew the truth, you would never accept statins or beta blockers again. You would understand that trauma, emotion, and disconnection break the heart field, not cholesterol. You would stop obeying the medical cartel and start tuning your body like the intelligent frequency field it is.

They do not want coherent humans. They want disrupted, inflamed, fragmented people who rely on drugs to survive. That is the business model. And the fake heart pump lie is central to it.

Your heart is not a pressure valve. It is a vortex. A field tuner. A resonating gateway between physical and energetic worlds.

It is the instrument of your soul. And it has been hijacked by science that refuses to evolve.

Jamie Freeman

[Thanks to Jaynie Ward]

#heart #anatomy #energy #HeartMath Institute #vortex #physiology #Jaynie Ward #Jamie Freeman

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polo-drone-055 · 6 days ago

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The Bloom Beneath

Miami’s June heat shimmered on the pavement as Trey walked beside Christian—Polo-Drone-055—whose polished visor reflected the blazing sun. Though they drew curious glances from passersby, Trey didn’t care. He had gotten used to being with 055, with and without his visor. And somehow, even in his silence, 055 radiated presence—calm, purposeful, comforting.

That morning, 055 had brought Trey a slip of paper—printed not written, with precise coordinates. No explanation. Just a location: a small island a few miles south of Key Biscayne, uncharted on most tourist maps. Trey had shrugged and smiled.

“Guess we’re going adventuring today, yeah?”

055 only nodded.

They took a rented skiff, Trey at the helm while 055 sat motionless, scanning the sea. After nearly an hour of weaving between mangroves and sandbars, they approached the coordinates.

Trey cut the engine. Before them rose a tiny island—no more than a sandbar, really—but crowned with a strange ring of bright pink plants, tall and feathered, swaying without wind.

Trey’s brow furrowed. “That’s… not normal.”

055 stepped into the shallow water without hesitation. The drone’s boots submerged with a quiet splash as it walked forward, unblinking, toward the heart of the island.

Trey followed.

As they stepped ashore, a faint hum filled the air—vibrating softly in Trey’s chest, like the resonance of a tuning fork buried in the earth. At the center of the pink flora, partially obscured by blossoms, lay something breathtaking.

It was a structure, or maybe a sculpture—impossible to tell. Shaped like a lotus but metallic and gently spinning, petals of copper and rose-gold unfolding endlessly into themselves. Each layer emitted soft light, pulsing in slow rhythm, like a heartbeat. Dew collected on its edges, even in the blazing sun, glistening like diamonds.

Trey knelt beside it. “What is this…?”

055 spoke for the first time that day, voice modulated but reverent.

“This is Bloom-Theta. A fragment of the Original Network. Not constructed. Grown.”

Trey reached out, fingertips brushing the warm surface of one of the petals. At once, a soft cascade of color washed over the structure—cool blues, then vibrant violets, finally resting in a calm gold. The humming intensified but didn’t hurt. It felt alive.

“Why here?”

“Buried long before the cities. Awakened by signal. Attracted to us. It responds to harmony.”

Trey stared in awe. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is a seed. It sings. It listens. It remembers.”

The flora around the bloom seemed to sway more intently now, leaning inward as if bowing toward the structure. Butterflies—perfectly silver-winged—fluttered above it, glinting like living chrome.

Trey sat cross-legged beside it as 055 stood guard in silence. Time lost meaning. The sun crept overhead. The bloom pulsed on.

Eventually, 055 moved again, scanning the sky.

“Signal must remain undisturbed. This place is not to be claimed. Only witnessed.”

Trey nodded slowly. “Then we keep it secret.”

055 extended a gloved hand. Trey took it, rising from the sand.

As they left the island and motored quietly back toward the city, Trey kept looking over his shoulder. The bloom faded behind the trees, lost to the world again.

But its beauty stayed with him, echoing in the back of his mind like a song only he and a silent drone could hear.

Recruiters: @polo-drone-001@brodygold@goldenherc9@polo-drone-125

#golden army #goldenarmy #golden team #thegoldenteam #ai generated #jockification #hypnotised #hypnotized #gold #polo drone #join the golden team #golden opportunities #golden brotherhood #polodrone #polo drone hive #rubber polo #rubberdrone #join the polo drones #goldendiscovery

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skeefee-sky · 8 months ago

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'Song of Memory.'

@thunder-tober Day prompt: 23- Song Characters: Virgil Tracy, Thunderbird Two Word count: 585

Everyone has a song that reminds them of a loved one that’s passed, or one they associate with that person – their song. Haven’t mentioned the song in particular; gonna leave that up to reader’s interpretation <3 During a maintenance check, Thunderbird Two asks Virgil about the song he’s humming. She finds out it has deeper meaning than she thought.

💙💚TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB 💚💙

“What are you humming?”

Virgil had expected the question by now. He’d make some sort of musical noise to pass the time during maintenance. And his Thunderbird would always inquire the melodies. He personally loved her curiosities in music, one day promising to play her a few tunes from the piano.

“Just a song…” he started, glimpsing over one of the scans as he walked past.

“Captain, it’s not ‘just a song’,” Thunderbird Two lightly poked. She had been listening; it definitely wasn’t just all that. Virgil softly scoffed.

“If you’d let me finish… It’s, just a song I used to listen to with my mother… It’s her song.”

The Thunderbird quietened at that, softening her engines as best she could out of courtesy. She hadn’t quite been expecting that answer... She hadn’t heard much about the boys’ mother – they rarely spoke about her at all. But she did know they’d all been fairly young when she had passed. Being a machine, Thunderbird Two didn’t quite understand the feeling of loss, but she had to imagine it hurt something awful…

“Sorry…”

“You’re fine, Two,” Virgil reassured, a soft chuckle escaped his lips as he paced her module. “I know I… we don’t talk about her as much as we do Dad but, we definitely should. I feel like, some of us are starting to forget her…”

He turned to input a few details into the monitor behind him, frowning at some of the data already on the screen. Well that was something he’d have to get Brains to check later… Fingers swiftly moved as he typed, and he started to hum again unconsciously.

“It sounds like it’s a sad song…” Thunderbird Two spoke up suddenly, softly. She didn’t mean to keep interrupting him; she wanted to hear the whole song out. But, something felt different about this song, and know that she knew it related to his mother, her curiosity was getting the best of her. Unnatural for a ship, but not a Thunderbird.

“Can you, tell me some things about her? Your mother?”

Virgil lifted his hands from the keys, breath caught in his throat as he paused. He then swiftly put in another command and moved away from the monitor, leaning up against the side of the module as he exhaled.

“She’s who encouraged my musical talent, you know… She’d be at the piano at any given opportunity, plunking for inspiration or playing a few notes of a song,” he started, tilting his head back a little as he spoke. “This song in particular, it was by one of her favourite artists. She taught herself the piano track to it, and would sing it to us before she tucked us into bed. It’s, not so much sad, as it is, reflective, in a way.”

Thunderbird Two listened intently, playing the song silently along her processor so she could try and picture what her pilot described. She could only imagine…

“I’d sit with her when she played; sometimes John was with us… She taught me right-hand, then left, but for some reason I struggled so much to put it together at first.” The laugh that left her pilot’s lips had the Thunderbird rumbling softly. He didn’t have to, but she was glad she’d gotten him talking. The conversations they had between each other during her maintenance checks did always seem to make them go faster.

“Maybe… Maybe I can play it for you one day, Thunderbird Two…”

“I’d like that, captain… Thank you.”

#sky's writing #thundertober2024 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #sentient thunderbird #thunderbird two #thunderbirds are go #i haven't.. actually read much about their mother myself so #that might be a bit headcanon-y aheh >w<

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mmani-e · 1 year ago

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Day 6383638628 of no PC, no digital art, nothing. But have a concept:

A band of DRV3 characters. I thought of one not including Kaede, it goes like this:

Kiibo - Lead vocals. But can do keys if necessary, I think he'd be wilding around singing with a voice he modulates manually with a dial on his chest making him sound like a talkbox. Sounds like this.

Angie - Lead Female Vocals + Lead Guitar. I've always imagined Angie's ultimate artist title bled into other things, it's just her favorite medium is just sculptures and paints. She can play super well but not as good as Ibuki, and she prefers just vibing heavily to R&B beats than anything face melting.

Korekiyo - Bass Guitar. I think he too would just love to vibe to the beauty of music the others play, while playing bass gives him a low-key role in the background letting him observe his bandmates while also getting that slight satisfaction of knowing he is kinda leading them with his tunes. I don't think he'd particularly care about what he plays as long as it's serene and pretty, so he just plays backup for whatever Angie wants.

Miu - Drums. Idk why but I always imagined her, Kazuichi, and Chihiro to be on drums. Being good with tech and engineering = drums in my head. Being on drums also gives her room to wild out all her excess energy on beats, while freeing her mouth for trashtalking hecklers when necessary (always). Also she gets to flex her genius drum chops only other geniuses can appreciate.

Shuichi - Not really an official member of the band, but when they need someone on keys he's their first choice. Especially when they're competing against Kaede's band, Kaede taught him so well that he's actually good enough to play by himself.

I think they'd mostly do R&B/Soul/Psychedelic stuff, mostly because I think it's hilarious to imagine Kiibou break into a blush trying to sing Beauty & Essex or something like that, while Miu's ego and Angie and Kork's everything else demands something that would give you nightmares if you were on shrooms.

#danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #angie yonaga #kiibo #k1 b0 #korekiyo shinguji #miu iruma #shuichi saihara #brainrot #text post #angie x korekiyo #kiiruma

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materialsscienceandengineering · 1 year ago

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Study unlocks nanoscale secrets for designing next-generation solar cells

The work will help researchers tune surface properties of perovskites, a promising alternative and supplement to silicon, for more efficient photovoltaics.

Perovskites, a broad class of compounds with a particular kind of crystal structure, have long been seen as a promising alternative or supplement to today’s silicon or cadmium telluride solar panels. They could be far more lightweight and inexpensive, and could be coated onto virtually any substrate, including paper or flexible plastic that could be rolled up for easy transport. In their efficiency at converting sunlight to electricity, perovskites are becoming comparable to silicon, whose manufacture still requires long, complex, and energy-intensive processes. One big remaining drawback is longevity: They tend to break down in a matter of months to years, while silicon solar panels can last more than two decades. And their efficiency over large module areas still lags behind silicon. Now, a team of researchers at MIT and several other institutions has revealed ways to optimize efficiency and better control degradation, by engineering the nanoscale structure of perovskite devices.

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reverieshifts · 4 days ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒑𝒕. 𝟐: 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒔

𝒔𝒄𝒊-𝒇𝒊 𝒅𝒓

𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

Class: Modified mid-class freighter (original designation untraceable)

Dimensions: Compact and fast—built more for speed and evasion than cargo bulk

Original Use: Unknown. Judging by the design mix, she may have once been a light cargo hauler, but at this point, almost nothing about her is stock.

𝒉𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒓

Plating: Mismatched but reinforced. Some hull panels are standard titanium composite, others are salvaged from military vessels. I once found a piece stamped with a defense contractor logo. Soren played dumb.

Damage Markers: Scars from asteroid grazes, plasma burns, and at least one railgun strike that tore through the starboard side before being patched with a piece of what appears to be an old satellite dish.

Stealth Coating: A stolen stealth coating on one side (only one side), giving her a bizarre half-gloss appearance when flying in certain light.

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚

Here’s where things get... illegal.

Engine Type: Tri-core fusion drive (overclocked illegally)

Thrusters: Multi-angle vectoring thrusters scavenged from a racing skiff

Hyperspace Drive: Installed after-market. Very not standard. Definitely not licensed. Burns through fuel like sin, but gets the job done.

Maneuverability: Shockingly agile for her size. She’s not built to win dogfights—she’s built to not get hit.

Speed: Capable of outpacing most patrol cruisers and nearly anything in her class. Soren once escaped a blockade by flipping her vertical, killing main thrust, and gliding between two gunships with only manual microthrusters. Clemmy didn’t love that. But she did it.

Max Velocity: Classified (by Soren) as “if she shakes apart, you pushed her too far.”

Signature Trick: Emergency micro-bursts for fast stops or rapid angular shifts—great for dodging, terrible for unsecured passengers.

𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒔

While not technically a warship, Clemmy has teeth—and Soren is not shy about using them.

Primary Weapons:

Retractable twin plasma cannons mounted under the nose (illegally modified for rapid cycling)

Hidden turret along the dorsal fin with full 360° tracking (camouflaged beneath sensor shielding)

Secondary Systems:

Ion net disruptor (used for disabling ships mid-chase)

Forward grappling harpoon (officially for salvage… unofficially for “creative boarding solutions”)

Mod Notes: All weapons have been internally rewired for faster charge times and energy efficiency. Soren insists it’s “completely safe.” The ship disagrees. The floor near the control relay is still scorched.

𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒔

Shielding: Layered energy-dispersal field adapted from outdated military specs. It’s finicky, but when tuned right, it can absorb an entire volley without so much as a flicker.

Hull Reinforcement: Polyceramic inner shell under the patchwork hull. Not factory standard. Probably military surplus. Possibly stolen.

Cloaking:

Partial stealth mode: One side only. Meant for short bursts, ambushes, or dodging sensor sweeps. Jax once described it as “trying to hide behind your own arm.”

Signature Dampeners: Basic-grade dampeners, good enough to fool low-level scans or confuse weapons locks for a few seconds.

Countermeasures:

Chaff and flare deployment for missile evasion

ECM scrambler array that definitely violates at least five galactic communication laws

Reinforcement Field: Short-range gravitic pulse projector, used to knock boarding parties off balance or repel magnetic tethers.

𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈

Primary Navigation System: Jury-rigged hybrid between an outdated freighter nav-core and a racing AI module. The interface is messy, but the calculations are blindingly fast—when they don’t crash mid-jump.

Manual Controls: Everything important is mapped to tactile controls. Soren doesn’t trust full automation. If the nav AI glitches mid-dive, he wants to feel the override.

Autopilot: Exists. Technically. Mostly used as a glorified parking brake or when Soren needs to sleep for 20 minutes in a safe orbit.

Charting Software: Half-legal, half-pirated. Capable of plotting hyperspace routes through narrow, high-risk corridors that most ships avoid.

Backup Systems: A wall-mounted hardcopy star chart in the cockpit. Just in case. Zia thinks this is hilarious. Soren calls it “responsible.”

𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔

Docking Clamps: Can attach to standard civilian ports, refueling stations, and most illicit trade hubs. May need to be “persuaded” into alignment.

Shuttle Bay: None. She’s too compact for internal hangars. Instead, she has one reinforced top-hatch cradle rigged for small detachable pods—used rarely, and only when absolutely necessary.

Airlocks:

Main Port: Standard-sized, sealed, and usually a bit stubborn when opening.

Secondary Hatch: Hidden behind a supply wall in the engine bay. Used for stealth entries and exits.

𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒔

Routine Repairs: Constant. Something is always groaning, leaking, sparking, or “just about to give out but not yet.”

Spare Parts: Stored in crates scattered across the ship—engine parts in the pantry, coolant lines under the bench seat, wiring spools in my hydroponics pod (which I do not appreciate).

Self-Diagnostics: Unreliable. The system either reports “everything is fine” (it’s not), or starts shrieking about seven simultaneous reactor leaks (there are none). Soren usually ignores it and just listens to the hum of the engine to diagnose problems.

Repairs in Flight: Doable. Often necessary. Soren has made mid-warp hull welds while dangling from a tether. Zia once had to climb into the bulkhead to manually restart a fried fuse bank after a flare surge.

Critical Weakness: The fuel converter. If anything’s going to go first, it’s that. It’s been patched, rewired, and coaxed with offerings—but one day, it’s going to die loudly.

𝒔𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

Power Grid: Custom-wired. Inconsistent. If too many systems are running at once (say, stealth mode, shields, and weapons), things start flickering. Choosing what gets power is sometimes a strategic decision—or a desperate one.

AI Integration: No full AI. Just a scattered handful of voice-assist systems, diagnostic subroutines, and a navigation core that occasionally asks Soren if he��s “sure about that” when he plots something stupid.

Voice Recognition: Primarily responds to Soren’s voice, but Zia has jury-rigged access to certain commands—especially life support, lighting, and doors.

𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈/𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔

Hard-dock only. No fancy mag-coupling or remote landers.

Zero-G Transfer Capability: Yes, with magnetic grip points and a manually sealed transition tunnel.

Boarding Defense: Reinforcement field, sealed bulkheads, and at least three blasters stashed near the doors “just in case.”

𝒔𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔

Most systems are custom-built, hotwired, or frankensteined together. Only Soren knows how everything works—and even he sometimes has to hit things to make them run.

Diagnostics require manual calibration. The ship’s internal sensors are either hyper-sensitive or utterly dead.

Flight path records? Wiped. Regularly. On principle.

𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕:

Clementine might look like a rustbucket. But she’s got the firepower of a private gunship, the speed of a racer, and the evasive instincts of a hunted animal. She doesn’t win fights with brute force—she wins them by being faster, smarter, and just illegal enough to stay one step ahead of the galaxy’s worst.

𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂

Ok, I'm gonna be honest here, my friend who's really into sci-fi had to help me write most of this, because as I've said before, I know like nothing about it. So all the fancy technical stuff in here was all him.

@aprilshiftz @lalalian

#reality shifting #shiftblr #desired reality #shifters #scripting #original dr rambles #reality shifter #dr scrapbook #original dr scrapbook

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angelcqre · 1 year ago

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Ti Te Ka'Ra

Mandalorian!141/Jedi!Reader / 55 BBY / Eventual GhostxReader

The ship is warm when you step into it. It’s jarring - in the empty vacuum of space, it’s difficult to maintain warmth, an expenditure of energy that most sentients agree is wasteful at best and suicidal at worst. It’s all too possible that your engine runs out of energy in the middle of nowhere, stranding you for any sleemo to come up on you, especially in the Outer Rim.

And this is deep kriffing Outer Rim.

The airlocks hiss as you step further in, sealing you with the armored man and his crew and the signature in the force that twinkles bright, a splay of youth-curiosity-exhaustion that reminds you of the creche. Of home. Fortuitous, really, that you had been conducting the watchman’s circuit, that you had been so close. A fresh knight in the right place at the right time.

The man before you doesn’t have his helmet on - displays a face that looks older than it should, warm eyes crinkling at the edges even as he looks at you with skepticism and distrust, inscrutable in the force, but mandalorians are like that, are trained to be like that. Jedi hunters, you’re reminded of when your people were at war.

You have no doubt he’s as deadly as any legend of old.

“You’re the jedi,” He says, and his voice is gruff, not a question, no, an accusation. You hum in acknowledgement, hands folding in front of you where you know he can see them, far from the lightsaber hitched onto your belt. "C'mon then - the child is waiting."

You fall into step with him easily, cognizant of him watching you out the corner of his eye. He's good - you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't tuned into his presence in the force. As well-shielded as he is, his awareness is a heavy, distinctive thing, scrutinizing and considering. You think he might be sizing you up. Beneath the armor, you can tell the man is broad, large, surely strong enough to lug around at least seventy pounds of armor, if your own assessment is accurate.

He'd probably give you a run for your money. Your lips quirk at that, curl. It's been a while since you've had a good fight.

He leads you through the small ship to what appears to be a common room - a rounded table embedded into the floor, surrounded by three stools and a backed bench that edges the wall, all smooth durasteel.

In the corner is the largest mandalorian you've ever seen. The man is huge - even beneath his armor, you can tell he's built, broad shoulders and a barrel chest and thick thighs. He'd be downright intimidating - he might still be intimidating - if he didn't have a child nestled into the crook of his arm, dozing happily against the fabric of his cape, one small hand wrapped around his gloved finger tight. She radiates into the force, a steady stream of comfort-safety-sleep that has your own eyes feeling heavy, made worse by how warm the ship is.

You take a step forward as you hear the other man head to the cockpit, curiosity getting the best of you, but the man in the corner's head snaps up, fixes on you like a predator's would, and your breath catches in your throat.

He's like a black hole in the force. It's unnerving - where there should be at least an outline of him, there's a void, unnatural and odd, nearly swallowing the child he's holding and all of her brilliance. You have to fight the urge to snatch her away, to soothe the feeling of strangeness that lingers in the air.

Good shields. Too good - he's all but erased himself in the force. It's a degree of fascinating that has you eager to edge closer and just as eager to step away.

"Tion'cuy?" He asks, voice a low growl, his voice modulator making it worse, and as you approach, you can see that there's some sort of paint along the black beskar, a stylized skull on his bucket and bones etched onto his gauntlets. "Ibic cuyir te jetii?"

"Basic in front of the jedi, vod, captain's orders," Drawls a voice from behind you, a force signature registering alongside the steady sounds of boots on metal grating, lighter than you'd expect for the kind of greaves you're sure he's wearing. "He's askin' what you are, bonnie lass, case you were wonderin'. 'M Soap," He hooks a thumb, gestures to himself, and then to the black-armored mando- "'N that's Ghost."

Unlike Ghost, Soap's armor is lighter, intricately painted in swirls of color that look almost to be like.. explosions against the deep green color, bursts of orange and yellow in sporadic splatters of pigment. His helmet is on, T-Visor dark and obstructive, but his voice is friendly enough, accent thick and warm and low.

"Soap and Ghost. It's a pleasure to meet you both," You say, letting some of the tension loose from your shoulders, gaze flicking between the two of them. "I'm a jedi - a knight. The closest one the council could send. They said it was an emergency case.." Your eyes trail down to the bundle in Ghost's arms, one brow arching when he shifts to hold the baby girl a bit more protectively, wary of you in the way that mandalorians often are. You don't move from where you're standing - not when Soap leans in to inspect you, not when a third lopes out, bucket under his arm and an easy smile on his face.

"And this one's Gaz." Soap rumbles, and this one - this one is different. An easy smile, long lashes, full lips, he's undeniably beautiful, but more than that -

He's force sensitive. You can feel him sprawled out through the force; easy, confident, not enough to qualify for the temple but enough to notice. You hum softly, rattle off your name, try not to take it personally when none of them take note of it.

There's a lightness to his presence. You wonder how it presents; with those just toeing the edge of sensitivity, it typically manifests in gifts, specializations. There's a clearness to Gaz's eyes as he looks you over, a sharpness.

"So you're here to keep the ik'aad from tearing our ship up more?" His voice is smooth, easy, a crisp coruscanti accent that has you tilting your head in curiosity and nodding. He rewards you with a smile, relief flashing in dark eyes, his posture loose and easy. His helmet goes to rest on the table as he drops into a stool, loosing a low sigh and reaching out to the baby.

"That's the idea. Untrained force sensitives are.. difficult," You respond, doing well to keep the question out of your voice. You doubt he knows, and even if he does, it's none of your business. "It's why we start them in the creche from as young as possible. Big feelings, a lot of power, no idea how to control that power.. it's a recipe for disaster, especially on prolonged trips."

Slowly, you move to sit at the table as well, gaze trained on the faceless man holding the child. You can feel his eyes on you - feel him assessing you, just as their captain had, but there's intent behind it that the other man simply hadn't had. Like if you moved wrong, he'd have no qualms squashing you like a grub.

"And that wouldn't amplify the.. difficulty?" Gaz asks, leaning forwards, brows raising, fine lines on his forehead becoming more pronounced. He looks young - you wonder if he's had his fair share of stress. "All of 'em together?"

"Thankfully, no. Between the crechemasters and the creche itself, crechelings are kept pretty settled," You say, gaze once again flicking to the baby. "We, ah. We project calm."

"Some of that jetii banthashite, bonnie?" Soap drops into the bench beside Ghost, utterly oblivious to the ache.

"Something like that."

"Well, s'long as it ain't pointed at us," He says, smiling with a bit too much teeth to be anything other than perfectly clear - friendly as he might be, the wariness is sharp. "'M sure ye ken not to misbehave with us, hen."

You keep your face schooled into impassive placidity, the perfect image of a settled jedi, even if the hair on the back of your neck rises at the suggestion of a threat. Your own eyes reflect back to you on that mirrored visor, and you swallow, soften your eyes, offer an easy, calm smile.

"Of course not."

It's going to be a long trip to coruscant.

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