05-20-2022, 12:43 PM
Tarancon Base, Omicron Minor System
The air reeked with a foul smell amplified by the vents positioned next to the ceilling of the hangar which pumped the same air in over and over again. No one had bothered to check the filters on a daily basis much less on a monthly basis. The atmosphere was as tense as ever - either there was a catastrophic malfunction threatening the station's integrity which had to be fixed immediately using questionable methods or a salvaging team struck gold for the fifth time in the same day, hastily unloading the goods from their CSF into dumpsters who had long lost their colors to indicate where does every piece of scrap go. Wires, melted hull plates, fried control panel parts and whatnot littered the floor of the hangar, often marinated by hydraulic fluid among other questionable chemicals - at times even fuel.
And then a shining ship stationed in one of the only functioning hangar's corner made itself known with a loud, almost childish and oddly optimistic voice. The vessel was considered "brand new" compared to what the rest of the local Junkers were flying. An imposing Jackdaw with devilish, red engines which only sometimes would eject some sort of gas through the interconnected gas pipes leading to the main engine array. "Honey I'm HO-_[?]--O_--OME!". A bright, red light came out of the ship's cockpit, flashing at unison with the voice's intensity and glitching out by the end of the sentence to the point of being barely understandable. "I've missed this place so much! How long was it? Five? Six months? We're back in business, baby! We're so f[-----] back! WOOO!"
The ship's pilot took of the improvised helmet he was wearing and threw it back into the ship's cockpit, along with the flight suit he wore over his usual clothes. The ship commented back at how the helmet posed a great risk of killing its user should it ever malfunction. And how it should be replaced as soon as possible with something that didn't have a piece of shrapnel lodged into it only inches next to the breathing apparatus. "I will. Don't be a pest while in the hangar." said the pilot. His tone was surprisingly calm when compared to the Jackdaw he landed with. "Send me any pending messages addressed to the Junkers in general. Prioritise the ones involving Tarancon." added the pilot while making his way towards the bar with a tablet in his right hand. A red, glitched out "smiley" popped up over the device's main menu, covering the text and icons. "Don't you want me to respond to them, also? You f[---]. Here, have your inbox. Nothing besides junk, junk and more junk! Fitting for the current state Tarancon is in, no? Oh, and there's a..."Fiorella Arianna de Marco". It's about Rochester.
The pilot sighed and opened the message from "de Marco". It had no answers whatsoever. Not from the Marauders, or the Congress. And an answer certainly wouldn't have come from him, as he wasn't a representative anymore. He administrated what the Congress wouldn't - Tarancon. Whoever managed Rochester should answer to Fiorella's line of questions. He continued his way to the bar. The hallways were initially small, yet made smaller by a set of makeshift pipes covering the left side of every hallway there was - and sometimes even both, leaving so little space that someone would have to move sideways through the tight place. Many of these pipes would hiss and leave out steam through the poorly made seals. From a Junker's perspective the costs were at least low.
And then a shining ship stationed in one of the only functioning hangar's corner made itself known with a loud, almost childish and oddly optimistic voice. The vessel was considered "brand new" compared to what the rest of the local Junkers were flying. An imposing Jackdaw with devilish, red engines which only sometimes would eject some sort of gas through the interconnected gas pipes leading to the main engine array. "Honey I'm HO-_[?]--O_--OME!". A bright, red light came out of the ship's cockpit, flashing at unison with the voice's intensity and glitching out by the end of the sentence to the point of being barely understandable. "I've missed this place so much! How long was it? Five? Six months? We're back in business, baby! We're so f[-----] back! WOOO!"
The ship's pilot took of the improvised helmet he was wearing and threw it back into the ship's cockpit, along with the flight suit he wore over his usual clothes. The ship commented back at how the helmet posed a great risk of killing its user should it ever malfunction. And how it should be replaced as soon as possible with something that didn't have a piece of shrapnel lodged into it only inches next to the breathing apparatus. "I will. Don't be a pest while in the hangar." said the pilot. His tone was surprisingly calm when compared to the Jackdaw he landed with. "Send me any pending messages addressed to the Junkers in general. Prioritise the ones involving Tarancon." added the pilot while making his way towards the bar with a tablet in his right hand. A red, glitched out "smiley" popped up over the device's main menu, covering the text and icons. "Don't you want me to respond to them, also? You f[---]. Here, have your inbox. Nothing besides junk, junk and more junk! Fitting for the current state Tarancon is in, no? Oh, and there's a..."Fiorella Arianna de Marco". It's about Rochester.
The pilot sighed and opened the message from "de Marco". It had no answers whatsoever. Not from the Marauders, or the Congress. And an answer certainly wouldn't have come from him, as he wasn't a representative anymore. He administrated what the Congress wouldn't - Tarancon. Whoever managed Rochester should answer to Fiorella's line of questions. He continued his way to the bar. The hallways were initially small, yet made smaller by a set of makeshift pipes covering the left side of every hallway there was - and sometimes even both, leaving so little space that someone would have to move sideways through the tight place. Many of these pipes would hiss and leave out steam through the poorly made seals. From a Junker's perspective the costs were at least low.