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· Registered
16 Posts
A solid and interesting beginning from both of you, I think this will be an interesting tale to follow. So, in Bushie's part, the ex-sororatis and the ganger are searching for distress calls to steal supplies from? Or are they secretly helping those with the distress calls? That was the only thing I confused by.

That aside, though, I liked it. Will be following :).
Ah, butts. Didn't make myself clear enough. Yeah they're indeed looking to steal supplies :)

· Registered
16 Posts
Wheee! My turn!


Their current ship, the Acanthis Tacet, was by no means an asset to be proud of; it was a comparatively tiny, ageing, hastily stolen waste transport ship- possessing only just-passable gellar fields despite having no warp ability of its own, designed instead to latch onto other larger, actually warp-capable vessels to travel between systems on the quiet.
In truth, it was a vastly outdated heap of junk; but it was their home, the Acanthis Tacet was all the divergent pair had to keep fleeing from the wrath of the restricting Imperial life they had so willingly escaped.

Odile stands gracefully, beckoning a lurking servitor over to take her place in front of the score of monitoring screens. “M-02A; you know what to do. Keep the core system within acceptable parameters.”
“I live to serve.” Comes the droning, monotonous reply as the individual clunkily seats himself, immediately plugging in various wires and tapping away swiftly at the data input station.

The woman then turns to Nell, who looks up from her seat, arms comfortably folded. “I suggest you make preparations to land.” She makes to leave, turning for the doorway before calling back over her shoulder.
“I will be in the cockpit. Hurry up.”
The hiver waits, still seated, until the ex-sororitas has left before rolling her eyes, silently making a childishly comical parody of Odile speaking. Nell eventually rises up out of her squeaking chair with a grunt, pausing to stretch and noisily crack her knuckles before also wandering for the door.

Humming to herself, Nell shuffles along the rusting, narrow corridors of the ship, scooting carefully past piles of boxes, disappointingly empty supply crates and general piles of unidentifiable junk, occasionally ducking under loops of wires and pipes she did not know the function of. She reasoned she probably should know, but that was the servitors job- as far as she was concerned she didn't have to care.
Kicking open the door to her characteristically messy quarters she strolls in, grabbing the only tool of her trade; her old, beloved laspistol. Unlike Odile, she felt she needed nothing else; she relied heavily on her unpredictable abilities as a psyker to get by, and it was just that what she was famed for back on Vaxanide. “Sparks” they used to call her, on account of both her scorching temper and her unnerving affinity with fire.

These were the same talents that one day drew the attention of the inquisition, and eventually lead to her previous life as an inquisitorial acolyte. A life she had long since left behind; a despised life she now eternally ran from.

The ambience in the far too warm, cramped cockpit was palpably tense as the juddering ship worryingly rattled its way through the upper atmosphere and slowly, gently, made its way down to the planet's surface.
Nell eventually sidles in and leans forward across the control panel, temporarily lifting her goggles to peer out of the misted window; the tiny flashes of las fire and pillars of oily smoke suggest they had arrived after the assault had already begun. Good. The crackling vox transmitter embedded in the worn, grimy control panel occasionally emits snippets of barking, distressed calls for aid amongst loud, irritating bursts of fizzy static. Odile promptly turns it off.

“Are you ready? It seems this won't be easy.” Grey eyes briefly flicker from the ship's monitoring system to her companion. With a clipped sigh, the hiver nods in assent, taking a seat.

Not a moment later the rumbling sounds of detonation erupt from outside the ship; far too close for comfort. It seemed the pair had woefully underestimated the planet's anti-aircraft capabilities, and if there was a ship that couldn't handle direct bombardment, the Acanthis Tacet was it.
Whilst Nell promptly spouts various obscenities and grips the handrest like a frightened cat, Odile barks orders into the shipwide comms; alerting servitors to man their stations and make any necessary repairs.
The ship veers wildly amongst blossoming puffs of flame and shrapnel, the cockpit a squealing mess of shrill bleeping screens and the fussing of the vessels old, stuttering machine spirit. “Warning. S-Sh-Shields at eigh-eighty p-p-percent. Fou-fourty p-percent. Warning. S-secondary th-th-thrus-sters damaged. Please r-r-repair immediately.”

The ship jerks suddenly as they suffer a direct hit; Nell is thrown forwards out of her seat with a surprised yell, although Odile somehow manages to retain her position. “Wwwww-warning. Sss-s-shields a-at cr-cr-critical level. P-p-prepare for imminent co-collision.”

“Damn it all..” Odile spits. Their stomachs lurch as the ship rapidly descends, barely able to keep itself in the air. The ex-sororitas leaps from her seat, snatching up her equipment- a pair of bolt pistols, a combat-ready belt and a battered jump-pack. She snaps at Nell, just managing to haul herself to her feet. “Get up, we're bailing.”

The hiver looks incredulous as she eyes the single jump pack, but follows Odile regardless out of the cockpit and towards the loading bay. The sororitas harshly thumps the controls for the reinforced loading bay hatch to open; a rush of air immediately slams into them both, the noise deafening.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?!” Nell shouts over the wind. “We can't just jump!”
“You'd rather go down with the ship then would you?” Odile snarls back, checking her gear is secured properly.
“Of course n-” is all Nell can say before she is promptly barrelled off the edge of the platform and into screaming, terrifying freefall- Odile holds her tightly, hurtling towards the ground at speeds Nell didn't want to think about.

The ship veers off above them, more and more explosions smashing against the ship until it finally succumbs to the onslaught; it thunders down, scudding frantically against the earth and eventually crashing forcefully into a district in the distance.

Meanwhile, the planet's surface approaches faster and faster, Nell's squealing becoming more and more panicked; Odile skilfully whips them both around, sending the thrusters on her jump-pack into roaring life just before they hit the cobblestones; the fierce gouts of flame slow their descent, just enough. Both Odile and Nell hit the ground, sent tumbling and rolling like toys until they both come to a skidding halt in the dust.

It takes a few long moments before either of them move. Odile is up first, picking herself up with a thin groan of discomfort.
Her jump-pack had taken extensive damage- one of the thrusters was badly dented and she thought she could smell fuel leaking from.. Somewhere.. With a huff, she decides to unclip and discard it, wandering over to the prone Nell, poking the face-down figure with a steel-capped toe.

“F*ck off.”
Odile allows herself a small smile in relief; they'd both survived.
She offers to help her friend up- Nell winces as she's brought back onto her feet. “Corpsy's dusty nutsack, don't pull that kind of crap again... Or at least warn me first, yeah?”

Odile murmurs and shrugs noncomittally as she finally takes in their surroundings. The area seemed fairly quiet, they had apparently landed in a residential district a little way from the main fighting; the echoing snaps of bolter fire and the fearful revving of chain blades audible in the distance.

Nell unclips her laspistol, checking it over- luckily it hadn't suffered any damage apart from the odd scrape and insignificant dent here and there.“We should move. Now we need supplies and a new stupid ship.”

The pair take a minute to stretch and check themselves over before heading in the direction of the ongoing battle, and the supply warehouses; hoping that under the cover of bloodshed they could steal away what they so sorely needed.
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