A quiet day in Delta. After a little tour through the Omicrons, the Apahanta was approaching Freeport 11 in order to get the jump drive fuel to jump back to Omega-49, where the battleship was usually hiding in the Barrier clouds. A little Sabre was accompanying it, dancing around with blue and purple lights all over the hull. It was the Sweetheart, Maren's Sabre. With a constant comm channel open between her ship and the Apahanta, the bridge crew was able to listen to the little casual sass Maren and Ezrael gave each other. It wasn't the first time this happened. They were used to it. Maren often was trolling Ezrael, and he usually paid her back.
"Battleship Apahanta to Freeport 11, this is Captain Ezrael Vertiga speaking. We're entering the No-Fire-Zone now to moor with Freeport 11 and refuel." Ezrael sounded via comm channel to Freeport 11 and shortly after it, he got the acknowledgement of the Freeport 11 flight control. They knew the Apahanta and the crew. It was not a rare sight in Delta, especially since the Core and the Apahanta ceased the hostilities with each other. Defending Port Carthage and raiding the Vault of Baltrum made everything easier again for Ezrael, at least when it was about the Core.
"Love?" Maren suddenly sounded, her Sabre whirling around at Freeport 11, not intending to moor with it. "Could I land in your hangar quickly?"
It sort of came out of nowhere. Ezrael stood at the bridge, looking over at the video feed of Maren. It was slightly hard to look at, because Maren constantly turned around and whirled weirdly around with her ship instead of just stopping like a normal, non-Eliza-Valdez-person would do. "Sure. Bridge to hangar, Maren will land on the Apahanta. Make sure her ship gets refilled and restocked."
"Could you come to me before you go to Freeport 11?" she asked him, smirking at him in the video feed.
"Sure."
A few moments later, Ezrael entered the hangar. Maren's Sabre was there, barely fitting. There also was one of the Apahanta's drone ships, the Handsome Rover, a Gitano. Those two ships filled the entire hangar, reminding everyone that the Apahanta was a small battleship and not a carrier. The tall man with the long black hair moved towards the Sabre, glad that Maren turned the lights of her ship off. It was one of her many ways of trolling him. Watching his girlfriend using the ladder outside the cockpit to leave her snub, he thought about getting her a more appealing-to-the-eye flightsuit. She used a very boring one, he thought. He came closer and looked up to her as she climbed down, a moment later reaching the floor, just to look at him slightly panting. "Little workout, eh?"
The expression he gave him in return made words unnecessary- That expression changed quickly as she made a step towards him, then tip-toed with her hands on his chest, just to push her lips against his. An extremely surprising move. Maren was not a romantic person, and this was very much not like anything he was used to from her. He gave in to the kiss, embracing her with his arms to pull her closer, closing his eyes. A moment later, when he opened them again, he noticed something weird. She moved one hand up to his cheek when breaking the kiss, retracting her head from him. It allowed him to see his surrounding had changed. The hangar was completely empty. No robots, no Sabre, not Gitano. Just him and Maren. And Valery, sitting on the floor, behind Maren. Ezrael began to understand. Mindmelting. That was why Maren wanted to see him? But why? Valery, the little red-haired and freckled woman, an avatar the incubus created to look less alien to them, waved her hand at him, without a word. Ezrael looked at Maren, meeting her eyes again. "Why?"
"There is a nomad on Freeport 11," Maren said quietly, giving him a more stern look while keeping her hand on his soft cheek.
It caused a certain sigh from Ezrael. "Oh, really. Are you for real? You're only being romantic on purpose when you tell me about a nomad on Freeport 11?" he accused her, more of a joke than it sounded.
She returned a lopsided look, using her other hand to stroke his hair. Some of his bangs were haning infront of his chest. "I want you to be careful, okay? Don't take too much time, try to not get involved in anything. Just do your thing there and don't do anything else. Can you do that?"
Looking into her, for some reason, beggin eyes, he sighed silently, exhaling through his nose. He knew why she was doing this, as the last time he had used his special status with the Nomads and the Wild, he hindered the Commune from infecting Elena Voigt, a Knight Captain of the Forlorn Hope. Maren and Valery had to put effort into solving the situation, the latter threatening Ezrael that made him not daring anything like it ever again, realizing the incubus was, despite all they went through together, not his friend. "I'm not an idiot."
The response was something she expected him to say, and while it was not exactly what she prefered to hear from him, she let her hands slowly slide down his cheek while moving her face closer to his again. Another kiss, another time he closed his eyes, just to open them again, facing Maren who let go of him. They were back in the reality. The Sabre was there, the Gitano was there, the robots were there. Not a second had passed in reality. She looked up at him, trying to give him a lovely stare, which then turned into an apologetic one. "I need to pee."
Smirking, he made a step back, gesturing her to walk with him. "Go pee, take a shower and wait in my room for me. I'll quickly get the stuff from the freeport." And thus they walked together, leaving the hangar, moving through the corridors. Once Ezrael escorted Maren to his room, he left it again, heading for the airlocks. The Apahanta had moored with Freeport 11 in the meantime, and the Kishiro Service Robots of the Apahanta started with refilling and restocking.
There wasn't much to do but to wait a little while. An unusual feeling of calm as the thoughts weren't preoccupied with what awaits ahead but rather what had been. What this place meant in the introspection, what role it played and its inhabitants did. Walking through the wide central hall connecting to residential area, whether on the way to meet someone or going somewhere, pausing briefly to focus. Within that moment the surrounding noise would fade into occasional whisper here and there, exposing fleeting thoughts of those passing by, echoes of their worries and concerns, an occasional burst of anger brewing deep down or sometimes even a remorse. The sense of time had always been quite different in such state. Here's a woman slowly walking by with a somber expression, aimlessly going around as all her thoughts are about a certain person she is looking for while the sense of dread is slowly gnawing upon the hope of seeing her friend again. And just a little ahead rushing through the crowd, much to annoyance of those nearby, a young man moves with haste to seize an opportunity, a deal of a lifetime™, or so he thinks to himself. Little does he know that his 'business partner' isn't going to deliver on promise and left the station half an hour ago. This unstable region is treacherous to all those planning individuals, and the higher stakes go the less likely they'll ever make it out. A permanent scar would be a reward and a reminder for the lucky ones. Many gambled here on a fleeting chance, convincing themselves that they, against all odds, will get the winning bet, that they had to, decimating all the other options with swift prejudice and setting themselves for a long fall. After all if so many had lost already wouldn't it increase their chances in the bottomless pit that is the Omicrons. They keep coming, inevitably drawn to the place from all corners of inhabited space. Most dire kind too, in this regard no other place were to match this in its splendor of violence and conflict. But right now here they merely pass by one another, so close but as if worlds apart, never stopping for a moment to look upon each other, instead they quickly turn away when a gaze of a stranger from the crowd falls upon them for mere moments. Masks of confidence and self-assurance hide tremors within, but many are always on the edge. Tomorrow some may end up going out there and finding themselves on the opposite sides.
But yes, aware of course. There's a guest. At this time of all the other times.
Little ones every now and then try to break the moment of silent observation. However never with an ill intent. Little gremlin.
Taking a seat at the upper level to watch the crowd and ponder for a moment whether to acknowledge arrival of our guest.
Sometimes, walking around on Freeport 11 felt weird. Ezrael was here quite often, especially after the Battle of Carthage. He knew what was likely to happen when he entered the station. When there was no battle taking place outside, the halls and corridors of Freeport 11 were filled with people, both the population of the station and the crews of moored ships and landed snubs and freighters. It was messy, quite often.
"If I was a nomad, where would I walk around..." Ezrael sounded, talking quietly to himself, blaming Maren in his mind for not being able to think about anything else but said nomad on the station. What was that about anyway? An incubus? Very likely. So she told him an infectee was around. The thought surprised him, as he thought there were more of them on the station at any time. But apparently, only one. Or only one he was supposed to know about. Walking down a hallway, followed by two Kishiro Service Robots who had their orders to fetch stuff and take care of the payments, Ezrael frowned in thought. Obviously he wondered where he was not supposed to be right now in order to avoid the nomad. Curiousity however demanded the opposite from him. After all, Maren didn't say he wasn't allowed to take a look at the entity. Interfering was not allowed, that was all. Not that Maren was likely to care about miswording.
Reaching the central hall, the athletic man looked around, the Kishiro Service Robots leaving him in order to proceed with their tasks. There was a little bit of air circulation, causing his hair to wave a little. Shaking his head to get it in place again, he heard his neck cracking. It sounded worse that it was, obviously, yet it caused him to frown, placing a hand at his neck, his head lopsided, the eyes staring unfocused into the nothingness. So many people around. It was hard to get a focus on anything. If there was a nice looking woman, that would have been the exception, but right now there wasn't. "Ergh," he breathed, feeling slightly embarassed about the thoughts he just had, shaking his head slightly. In his usual sovereign appearance, he made a few steps forward, eyeing the people around him, trying to be as aware as possible of his environment. Maren surely wouldn't have allowed him to enter the station if the nomad was dangerous to him in an active way, so he didn't really worry about this one. Yet there were enough other weird people on Freeport 11.
There was a short moment. The eyes of a woman passing by had anchored at him. She was probably just taking in the sight, there weren't many men with his appearance. Long black hair, healthy body, slightly buffed, tall, dressed in a rather shape-revealing, skin-tight overall in a dark color, matching gloves and boots while the torso was covered by an open black leather jacket. And the stupid scar at his eye, as he still refused to have it removed. Smirking, Ezrael returned the looked at the woman. A blonde, long legs, Core uniform. Did she know him? She passed by, slightly smiling at him, and his eyes followed her until she started to disappear in the mass of people. As his glare began to unfocus, he noticed a strange feeling. Like a chill running down his spine. It was weird, and caused him to blink multiple times. Was someone staring at him? Looking around in a sudden confusion, he felt attracted to look in a certain direction. "I'm not here to interfere with anything," Ezrael said quietly into the nothingness, apparently adressing nobody by how quietly the words were spoken. He knew incubi would be able to understand them nevertheless.
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