The docking bays were busy as usual, the fighter patrols coming and going, Alcatraz depot a rather busy place for such a small station. A reserved space of the dry docks were meant for the tagged rogue ships, the wing consisting mainly of fighters and bombers did not take up too much space, yet not the most friendly places for the resident mechanics, who, upon entering the area were busily shooed by a tall and rather thin man named Andrew, who was a force to reckon with...when in a fighter, at least. The man wasn't the most handsome lad around, but he had all his limbs and it was good for a start. His voice though was not the most pleasant, when he was annoyed, and once again the docks were echoing with it, as he was making sure another tech ran as fast as he could from the odd man, who was threatening to bust his head open with a pipe wrench.
...wires! Blue one goes BEHIND the yellow and FIVE inches from the capacitor ya git! Catch you once more makin' ma ships crappy and ya be usin' a nail file to scrape the rust off the transports!
Mort shook his head and returned to the Hyena he was taking apart, the engines half disassembled and the gunmounts were ripped open. Another lovely mess, but he was a man, who made sure he did his job right. He didn't let any other mechanics near his ships, believing only he knew how to truly fix them up.
He sighed and returned to tampering with the engine's wiring, feeling, they did not really shut off quick enough, when needed, a simple problem to fix, but to get to it, almost a ton of armor and pipes of all sizes needed to be removed and labeled, so he would know where to place them back.
He couldn't help but to smile warmly at the ship like it was his child
Just o lil' more fixes, ma darlin', and yall be flyin' again, shreddin' those navy bombers like butter...
So tampered up in his fiddling, he wouldn't hear anyone sneaking up on him, but not many did, the odd man carried his pipe wrench around everywhere, even if it wasn't needed at all, the occasional glass of spirits at the bar didn't propose much of a threat, for example...
Sighing and wiping her forehead of sweat, and leaving a smear of engine greese across her forehead, Ashes pondered if the air conditioning was even functioning. She placed the wrench in her hand on the ground and got to her feet. Her knees were cramped from crouching down for a long time as she worked. Ashes had been working on a prototype ship for the past few months... so long in fact that she hadn't had time to fly in space for a long time. Ashes lifted her arms up above her head and stretched her entire body, standing on the tips of her toes and squeaking slightly as she did. She relaxed and let herself slump back down to stand on flat feet. The oversized combat boots she was in were starting to get uncomfortable after the long day working, so she leaned over and unbuckled them, and lifted up her legs to pull the boots off one at a time.
It was time to take a well deserved break, she had made good progress today and her project was nearing completion. She decided to go for a walk to stretch her legs and see what the other Rogues were doing. She unbuckled the top button on her overalls and pulled the zipper down to her waist, and then pulled her arms out of the sleeves. She pulled at the collar of her shirt to make it sit in a more comfortable position before starting her wandering.
Ashes tread lightly across the floor, it was quite a mess of tools and spare parts lying around. There were many small and dangerously pointed objects that would easily pierce the sole of her unprotected bare feet if she made a wrong step. But she was careful where she stood.
"You still working on this tin can, Morty?" Ashes enquired as she approached the man working on the Hyena. It was not a ship Ashes was very fond of. Fast ships were her fortay, and as far as light fighters' go, the Hyena wasn't exacly the fastest. It was the reason she prefered her Greyhound and aspired to fly a Sabre.
The young man looked up at her, crouched once more next to the open engine, pondering who was the bright man to make the bolts unscrew from the Inside of the ship and smiled a little.
I have been working on a few things..so I needed the rest, i guess, this ship is not the best, no, but believe me it is something for darker days i am willing to prepare for if something happens.
He stood up and stretched as well, a few pops heard running down his neck and back, making him grimace just a little. Mort smiled and pointed at the other ships in the LR wing's docking bay. A Barghest, a Warewolf, a few peaces, which once were a pirate train, only the captain's bridge and engines remained, a rusty looking Greyhound as well.
All need some fixing...and I am not allowing the other mechanics touch them. Those ships are my work, so if I wont be the one who tends to them, I won't recognize them in flight.
He shook his head some and took off his mechanic's vest, clings of nuts and bolts and other instruments heard in the multiple pockets of the stained clothing, revealing a bit less then average muscled frame, normal to those who grow too fast.
I wonder..will i be asked to fix that damn cooler..or will Tom do the honors, he knows i am busy with things...you too look on the warm side
He added in an almost fatherly way, before reaching for a peace of cloth and began to clean his palms, noting not to rub too hard over the few bruises here and there, before he reached for a bottle of acetone and began to wash his hands with it.
as he landed his shiny new werewolf heavy fighter craft, Dreadblade sighed. there goes the rest of his holiday. back to the drudgery of being a rogue.
then he smirked.
'naaw... it ain't so bad.. most of the time we are doin get rich quick schemes that involves shootin cargo holds and trade lanes. rest of the time we are just plain havin fun!' he wondered how many other veteran rogues had were still around. Sure... a few of em could be on missions, a few others on holiday, but, he had to know.
he walked towards the mess hall. then he saw sparks.
'hmm... could it be mort.'....'it is! still workin on that ol rustbucket of yours, i see. well... good luck. well. see ya. im off to the mess hall for sum grub then im goin flyin.
'hey, dreadblade.... looks like your craft needs a little touchng up.'
'i dont trust anyone else with it. ill deal with it later.'
*crash*
Dreadblade ran towards the crashing sound. it was in the mess hall.
he opened the door and peered in.
'Ashes. typical you. what did you do this time. spin on your chair and trip on a lamp?'
Ashes quirked an eyebrow as she glanced over the ship. The Bloodhound was an outdated model that had been with the Rogues from their early days, mostly built from scrap parts. The Hyena had improved significantly on the older model, but the over all design was still outdated.
"Something? This thing is a death trap." Ashes said, and demonstrated by flicking away a piece of rusted armour on the side of the ship.
Ashes panned her gaze across the docking bay. It wasn't uncommon for it to be cluttered with Rogue Ships in a state of disrepair. Especially with increased Navy and Police patrols, along with the uprising of vigilantee groups. It seemed whenever they began to prosper, the LPI just pushed back harder to crush them. Piracy was beginning to become less profitable, with traders being less inclined to pay up. Ashes was finding it tough to even fuel her ships, let alone keep and repair. Ashes' mind was wandering, and not paying attention to whatever it was Andrew was rambling about. Her gaze turned back to Andrew as he was speaking something to her, but she didn't catch what he said. She looked back at him, unsure of what to reply. She studied his face quickly, searching for what he expected her to reply.
"uhh... yeah..." Ashes replied, just to be safe.
Ashes exhaled heavily. A strange Rogue she barely recognised had showed up, making a rather comical entrance before dashing off randomly, and blamed the odd noise from an adjacent room on her. Ashes' face was not a picture of amusement, with her shoulders slumped, eyes half closed and the corners of her lips turned down.
"Yes. Despite obviously standing right here, that was entirely my fault." She replied in an equally less than amused tone. She turned back to Andrew.
"So what's taking you so long to fix this pile of crap? Maybe I can help." Ashes offered.
Andrew only blinked some as he looked behind him at the odd rogue blaming Ashes for something and shrugged, murmuring something about molly ale.
May be one, lass, but it would be something I will be glad I have if something bad happens..not to mention if someone screws up, they will be flying this thing for at least a weak...
He added the last part with a slight chuckle and looked around.
It is not that i need help...time is what I need, believe me, i would rather be out there with the rest of the rogues, some action there, only action in here is if I find some idiot used the wrong bolt...
He shook his head and then sat down against the ship once more and yawed silently and sighed, looking at the mess, slumping a little as he remembered that he would be the one cleaning the mess up after all. The man took his time and looked around the Barghest and smirked.
Nothing much is keeping me from repairing the ship, except the lack of enthusiasm and time...Still need to keep an eye on the recent rogue destroyer that left Cassini not a day ago...hmmm.
Andrew couldn't help but to yawn again as he really was tired, so tired he slept in the docks, rather than in his quarters. The last week was a rather lovely pile of mess for him and it only got even more complicated, when Silpheed had taken off god knows where.
Have yet to get out from this room...i need a good flight..and a drink
Kurt stalked the halls of Alcatraz leading into the docking bay. He kicked a few rat corpses aside and picked up a can of spray paint.
Across the bay, he saw Ashes Yotaka's Barghest. "Damn it all..." he grumbled as he placed a stencil on the hull of the ship. "She tagged the battleship..." he sighed. He pressed down on the nozzle and let the red paint hiss onto the stencil and ship hull.
In a sudden moment of compulsive misbehavior, he painted "Sylpheed Sucks!" on the hull of the bomber.
"He won't know until he returns... hehehe..." Kurt chuckled to himself. He threw the can of paint at a rat scurrying across the hangar bay floor. It promptly fell over and died.
He proceeded to stalk the halls back to the Communications and Briefing room, in all its ragtag pirate glory, and flipped on the console, waiting to see if anyone would actually listen to him.