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It was only fair to give him a chance to speak after what she had just put him through. Slowly Havanah calmed down, letting each and every word sink in as he spoke it. Her heart even sank a little bit when he mentioned leaving other candidates behind. That was the kicker, wasn't it? Not all of them make it, not all of them are cut out to be a Pilot. She empathized with his reasoning because it was logical in her eyes, even if it wasn't to the eyes of those higher up.

"Listen let's make a deal then." Havanah shifted and crossed her arms in front of her. "No more holding back. You have less than a year until you are of age. That is not much time to complete Stage 4 and 5. I know you can do it and I want you to prove to everyone else that this is a cakewalk for you. Do that for me and I swear I won't come in guns blazing every time I see you."

Again Havanah moved towards the table, taking one of her hands and placing it on the back of a chair. "However, if you don't... I will be throwing more at you than a pile of papers." It was a warning of sorts. That chair could easily become a deadly weapon in her hands and if she had to, she would beat the living hell out of him with it to get the point across.

"So with all of that out of the way come sit... let's talk." It was like a switch was flipped as Havanah's usual quirky smile emerged. "Tell me if you need anything or what I can do for you as a mentor. What do you want to do after candidacy? I can start putting feelers out now and get you some opportunities after you graduate."

Yes, Havanah wholeheartedly believed that Matthew was going to graduate. "Also I have a very short amount of time to plan the most epic Candidate graduation party of all time."
It wasn't easy not looking at him while he went on with all the reasons as to why he wasn't going anywhere. It was even harder keeping a somewhat descent face as he went on, constantly fighting the urge for it to twist into an ugly sobbing mess.

At first, when Soleas put his arms around her Aspen flinched, she wasn't sure why. Soleas had never hurt her and never given her a reason to be afraid, yet she still did. Silent she stood even while she was pressed against him like this. She was frozen, almost like when she could feel a panic attack coming on. Her body couldn't move, she couldn't think... she would shut down.

However, that was not what was happening here. She was frozen because if she moved even the tiniest fraction she would break. She would become an Aspen pile of rigid shards right there in the middle of the library. Why couldn't Soleas just leave well enough alone and let Aspen fight by herself?

Then it fell, not only the wall that started crumbling the moment Soleas slammed her jacket onto the table but also the first tear. Flashbacks of all the fun times she had when Soleas was around began flooding her. The laughing over baked goods, the races, and jokes. All of it, all of them. Every single candidate that ever laughed with her or caused a smile to form on her lips. Before them she was nothing.

She knew it was stupid, she knew it was reckless, she knew that counting on others to keep you sane was not the way to go through candidacy. But maybe for Aspen, it was. She was finally learning that not everyone wanted something from her other than just friendship. All of them were teaching her about a type of humanity she never thought existed. So what if she caught hell for depending on them?

None of them could understand and she didn't expect them to. Aspen would eventually learn to fight for herself, and she would learn it from all of them.

When Aspen broke she broke fast. The first tear quickly followed by more and more. Before she could get a grasp on it she found herself practically clinging to Soleas as she cried into him. "I'm so sorry Soleas," Aspen spoke between sobs. "I never meant to hurt you like this or anyone else. I just wanted to keep you guys safe from getting into trouble. I thought that I was going to get all of you Trim'd."

"I'm always the one starting things. It's always my fault when we break the rules. And Viktor..." Another wave of sobs rolled through at the very thought of her other closest friend. "He has so much to prove and I am just dragging him down." If Aspen could have hugged him any tighter she would have, even if it broke him in half.
He was not stupid. Anytime a woman used mhmm at you, you done fucked up in her opinion. Since she was a Pilot and his mentor Matt knew he’d better pay damn close attention to her opinion. His eyes followed her like a hawk as she dragged her feet, hackles already rising slightly at the berating he was about to get.

Well when you put it that way. Matt couldn’t even deny that was exactly what happened. Landis was taking the test, so he decided he had to take it. Definitely a ‘what the hell’ kind of decision on his part, and he wasn’t even sorry for it.

Yes, he should have taken the test months ago.

Yes, doing it the way he did, without intensive prep work beforehand, was probably considered stupid.

Matt just didn’t care if he’d been reckless about taking his Stage 4 examine. To him it wasn’t even a reckless decision. As far as he was concerned there was no way he could have failed that test. It was past time he moved forward.

So he stood there, expression stoic as he took the verbal lashing. He thought he made a fairly good show of taking the smack down in perfect stride. The only real smudge on his performance a slight twitch of his left eye as the file was thrown at him, papers scattering on the floor around him. He wondered how many other Candidates might have gotten flustered or defensive after being dressed down by their mentor.

“You’re completely right, Pilot Echo Brookes. I haven’t been giving the program everything I have, and I do worry about what everyone else is doing.” His voice was calm, and low, never raising and far from arrogant or sarcastic. “Landis is my friend, and I made my decision to move forward based on his decision to move forward, and that was wrong of me, but I didn’t stay in Stage 3 because of him, if that is what you’re thinking. You know who my parents are – Pilot Royal Summer Meadows and Pilot Royal Lucas Wright. That’s a lot of expectation to sit on anyone’s shoulders.”

Matt actually lowered his eyes to the floor. “I want to be a Pilot more than anything. I was bred, born, and raised to become a Pilot. It’s in my blood and DNA. It’s also the reason I didn’t want to rush through my Candidacy. I’m not old enough to even graduate yet, ma’am. I still have a little bit to go to hit the minimum years of Candidacy on top of that. Not all my friends will make it. I know that, you know that, everyone knows that. It didn’t seem like I should hurry to…leave them behind.”
Again Havanah found herself disappointed with her candidate. Not because he had decided to finally move up, but because it wasn't for Aspen. HOW TRAGIC.

"Mhmm" she hummed, taking a step back while she tapped her fingers on her hip.

For a moment Havanah was silent, deep in thought as she tried to think of what she could do to help Matthew. He honestly was doing a pretty great job, there really wasn't much to critique other than a few things here and there.

"So let me get this straight..." She was moving again, almost dragging her feet beneath her as she took a couple more steps back and then to the side. "... you decided on a whim that because one of your friends was testing up that oh, I don't know. What the hell I'll just take it and get it over with!?"

She pressed a finger to the space between her eyes and sighed. Okay so maybe there was a tiny problem here.

With a finger still pressed she continued, her voice starting out low before growing significantly.

"I just don't understand.... I don't understand how you guys think what everyone else is doing is important right now." Havanah was now grouping Matt with Aspen. She remembered how in her candidate years that at the end of the day the most important thing was yourself.

"I mean like... I get it. All of this stress you are under is nice to unload on someone every once in a while. But you should never-" she cut off and finally placed her hand back on her hip, leveling him with her gaze once more.

"I repeat NEVER hold yourself back for any reason!" Havanah was then pacing again, clearly having a moment with Matt's entire statement.

"What if they decided to Trim you because they thought you didn't care? What if they decided that you were just 'okay' and nothing more than that? What good will you be to them if you're not even willing to give it literally everything you have?"

Okay so now Havanah was just on a rant, the serious Inquisitor shining through as she continued to get worked up over this.

"You are here to learn and become magnificent! You are here so that one day you may be chosen by a dragon to serve our great nation! Show them that you deserve it!"

So what if only a few minutes ago Havanah had hoped he would say he did it for Aspen. She was a hypocrite but didn't care. Deep down she knew what was really expected of candidates and this... well this wasn't cutting it.

In a last-ditch effort to show just how pissed she was Havanah walked back over to the table and picked up his file. Then without warning, she threw it in his direction and watched as its contents scattered all over the floor.

"You're better than this shit Matthew! Get it together!"
The Citadel / Re: We Need To Talk... [Moonie!]
« Last post by Blink on Today at 09:12:28 AM »
When Alec was confused Havanah thought it was the most adorable thing, which left her finding him adorable quite often. Even more so every time his lips met hers when he had that look on his face. Happily, she leaned in to kiss him back, disappointed when it was over.

Taking his offered hand Havanah then laughed at his hope for some of her eggs. "I can always make more."

The way Alec made Havanah feel was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. As she picked up where she left off and continued making more eggs she thought about all of the flings she had before him. None of them were like this, and none of them lasted for more than a few days. At some point, she remembered being called 'hard to handle.' Ha... as if.

Even without the music blaring Havanah still danced to the beat of her own drum while she readied two plates with not only eggs but toast as well. She had made herself completely at home in his kitchen and had no problem navigating where everything was. It was almost like she had time to go through all his cabinets or something when he wasn't there.... nah.

Scooping a bit of butter on her own toast she spread it before licking off the little bit that got on one of her fingers. "So are you ready to deal with a very bored me for two weeks? I'm sure I will require all of your attention." Havanah then added a wink before she picked up the now buttered toast and took a bite. Oh, it was so on after this food was eaten...
Matt knew when he was being sized up; he only wished he knew what she was thinking. That look of disappointment remained, but Pilots were good at hiding their thoughts and feelings until they wanted you to know. Instead of fidgeting or getting nervous at the examination, he simply kept his head straight and posture at attention.

It wasn’t until she read out one of his instructor’s comments, and subsequently threw it on the ground like so much trash, that Matt had any reaction at all. He winced.

Well didn’t she sound just right pissed?

“Yes Ma’am!” What else could he even say? There was literally no other response he could have given to that order. It wasn’t like she was wrong. Matt knew he’d been slacking and dragging his feet through the entire program. If they thought he wasn’t going to be a good damn Pilot he might have gotten himself TRIMed over it; except he never slacked enough to put himself in serious danger of that, because Matt wasn’t fucking stupid.

When Havanah rose from her chair and came to circle him it was hard not to tense up. Matt refused to be stiff and look uncomfortable under her vulture-like appraisal. He was Stage 4, well over halfway to becoming a Pilot himself, and would not act like he was afraid over something so small. Pilots were fucking fearless, and he was going to be one.

Matt quirked an eyebrow at the question – or questions rather. It was a fair question from his mentor, to want to know what motivated him. Still, one corner of his mouth lifted slightly as he leveled his eyes right back at her. “I heard that my friend, Candidate Montgomery Flane, was taking his Stage 4 test and immediately went down to Candidate Affairs to demand they also test me on the same day. I didn’t want to be left behind, and as you said yourself, I should have been tested months ago. It seemed like as good a time as any to make the leap.”
Aedolis Characters / Yahui Sung, Pilot Royal [WIP]
« Last post by Astaire on Today at 06:38:54 AM »



{NAME} Yahui Sung

{ALIASES} Ya, for a particular few people that are close to him

{AGE} 42

Demi, doesn't like casual sex

Post-human. Human, though his genetic make-up includes strains of other humanoids as well
3rd generation Aedolian with Thanati heritage

Lean, wiry

Pilot Royal
Officer in the Haviah Inquiry cell

The Citadel, Haviah



Yahui isn't very imposing to look at.  On the short side, and while he's not devoid of muscle, it's not immediately obvious; he's not particularly tall or ripped, rather remaining lean and built like a dancer or acrobat, with wiry, corded strands of muscle on his small frame. He has pronounced collarbones and hips, a narrow waist and a slim swan's throat; there's just a hint of abs and defined pectorals to be seen on his torso, though he has long and elegant legs. His shoulders are quite narrow and he's visibly sinewy, having a hard time packing on both bulk and fat. While not frail and not really effeminate either, he's far from being heavy-set or a shredded alpha male. He has very slim, elegant fingers and particularly pretty hands.
His posture and mannerisms subtly betray his attitude; while he has the tendency to keep his head up high and never slouch, he typically subtly shies away from people he's unfamiliar with and keeps a very reserved body language. Physical contact with strangers is a no-go. His motions are smooth, elegant, but not flamboyantly so, rarely ever theatrical or overblown and showing an underlying confidence rather than throwing his weight around, often sitting with his legs crossed or threading his fingers together - a habit built from efforts to stop himself from gesticulating while he speaks. There's a stark difference between Yahui in service and Yahui in his private life; Yahui the pilot moves with the automated speed and certainty of a soldier, leaving no doubts about his position, but Yahui the civilian is more reserved and gentle.

Due to his post-human and genetically modified nature, he hardly looks older than his late twenties; his facial features betray both his Thanati heritage and mostly human identity. They're soft and noble, reminiscent of a doll, his most recognizable traits being his huge sad tilted eyes with creaseless eyelids and high cheekbones. He has particularly prominent lower lashes and his eyes are quite deep-set, somewhat narrow and set under lightly bent, thin and well-maintained brows transfixed in a perpetual resting bitch face. His nose is small, soft and a little upturned and his round lips are typically pursed in a firmly dispassionate grimace with the corners of his mouth dropping downwards. He has a soft chin and a slightly elongated heart-shaped face, though his jawline is just about chiseled enough to be masculine. His ears are a little pointed - a mark of his not quite human genome. Overall, he's actually quite androgynous; his face only betrays minimal hints of emotion on most occasions, a skill he had actually cultivated on his own. His smile had been noted as both disconcerting and sweet, and therefore he does not smile. A pilot royal has no business going around grinning, anyway.

His skin is pale, with a soft peachy undertone, much like porcelain or tinted alabaster; especially his face and hands give off that doll-like appearance, what with his near-androgynous features. Curiously, his eyes seem to display no hints of an iris or pupil, instead being a monotone blank white. Upon closer inspection, differences can be seen and it is visible that the white presumed to be sclera - oddly devoid of any veins - is actually the iris, filling the entire eye as it does in some species of elves, fae and other mammals. On occasion, he wears contact lens to disguise this, though shades are a much easier solution. His lashes are nearly white, while his brows have a slightly darker faint pink tint than his hair. Curiously, the hair on top of his head is lighter; white near the roots and a faint pastel pink towards the tips, it becomes a wholesome pastel pink with a hint of peach towards his ears and the nape of his neck. Although his palette is all whites and soft peachy pastel pinks, he doesn't give off a particularly warm appearance.

He keeps his soft straight hair lightly mussed up and cropped to mid-ear length, with bangs usually worn somewhat parted around the middle and covering most of his forehead and the top of his ears; it's short around the back of his neck, but not quite shaved. His haircut is regularly trimmed to keep it from getting too long. It's the short length and lack of product use that makes it appear scruffy. On rare formal occasions, it will be smoothly combed back and out of his face, although this makes him look particularly severe and harsh. His face is perfectly clean-shaven without a hint of facial hair and there's no noticeable body hair to see save for a very faint trail down from his belly button.

He doesn't have any piercings; or rather, none that he still wears, though his ears had been pierced several times and there's still a faint hint of a lip piercing that had knitted together in all the years he hadn't worn it. There's the tattoo of a stylized, vaguely rose-shaped flower done in white ink on the palm of left hand, but it's barely visible. He had it done in his early twenties and getting it removed seemed like a waste of time.
There are some barely visible incision scars on his hips and left shoulder from replaced joints. He typically heals quite well and small scars eventually fade in a few years' time.

A very easily noticeable trait is how neatly picked his wardrobe is and the attention he puts to his clothes; while not an attention hog, Yahui cares about upkeeping a neat public image and a steady aesthetic. He dresses chiefly in light, muted colors with a particular emphasis on white that he can somehow keep pristine no matter the circumstances, though his other favorites include light rose, teal, pale gray, peach, silver and golden, and cream. His fashion style is very well defined, and he seems to have a neat outfit for every weather and every occasion. It's also easily noticeable; preferring single colors or two color combinations including only minimal discolored details, printless fabrics or at most geometric patterns, simple purposeful lines, practical clothes and designs that reveal only a comfortable minimum, he's far from a show-off. His clothes are very modern, favoring straight lines, minimalism, luxurious materials and a smooth, streamlined appearance. He's rarely seen without long pants - not jeans, he probably doesn't even own a pair; they're usually a simple pair tighter around the ankles or something slightly similar to cargo pants, loose around the thighs with some pockets to eliminate the need for a bag. Simple colarless shirts, nondescript T-shirts with small necklines, outdoor jackets or long coats, his everyday clothing is very modern and typically in a light color palette. He also owns several elegant, high-class suits, most of them white. Typically, he wears comfortable sneakers or laceless boots. He avoids both oversized and overly tight clothes, dressing for comfort and a simple futuristic aesthetic rather than to show off. Sometimes during his depressive moods he dresses in dark gray or dark blue, but it's rare.
He doesn't wear any jewelry and usually avoids wearing hats; if need be, most of his jackets incorporate a hood. However, in public, he's never seen without a white (or, on occasion, dark gray) surgical mask - to avoid immediate recognition and protect himself from pollution/dirt and, to a lesser degree, foul odors. He also very frequently wears sunglasses; he's rarely ever seen without them.

TL;DR: Small, lean, wiry, built more like a dancer, elegant hands, Thanati features, big sad eyes, resting bitch face, pale porcelain skin, blank white eyes, white-pink mussed up hair with bangs in his face cut to cover the top of his ears.
Light, minimalist futuristic clothes, nothing too revealing, a very streamlined aesthetic. White or light colors. Usually wears a jacket and sunglasses. Never seen without a surgical mask.


Fun Facts!:
  • has bipolar disorder (rapid-cycling BD-I); takes mood stabilizers and attends therapy regularly
  • does yoga in his free time, though he has problems with meditation
  • neat freak, perfectionist, and doesn't like human contact unless he initiates it on his own or the person touching him is a close acquaintance/friend
  • likes scented candles and weed in controlled amounts, but avoids getting high in his depressive episodes
  • has a very keen artistic interest, chiefly in regards to poetry (although literature in general counts) and painting and likes to draw architecture and interiors, but he's not very good at it; philosophy is another of his big interests
  • very easily irritated by cacophony or disruptive sounds; always carries noise-cancelling earphones on him for this reason
  • a fashion and interior design brutalist and minimalist, his aesthetic is extremely neatly streamlined and carefully maintained
  • loves looking at the sky, especially starry skies



Inieta -



The Citadel / Re: We Need To Talk... [Moonie!]
« Last post by Moonie on Today at 05:58:05 AM »
Whatever remaining shreds of anger Alec had been holding on to floated away as her fingertips brushed along his jawline all the way behind his ear. It made him shiver just a little. Why did their have to be anything bad at all? Couldn’t it all just be sweet and pleasant and tingly just like that touch? A soft smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as she apologized to him.

And smiled.

How could he ever stay mad at her?

In any other circumstances Alec might have been disturbed to think that anyone, man or woman, had wrapped him so securely around their little finger. With Havanah, well, he didn’t think he minded so much, and that just reaffirmed to him that she was something very special.

The tenderness of the moment was suddenly broken, and he found himself blinking in confusion. What the hell was she talking about? Oh, right, she was cooking when he came home. Well, Alec was never one to say no to food. He’d just gotten home from work and was starving, but Havanah had made him forget that he was even hungry.


Alec let out a soft laugh and leaned up, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her lips before standing up and offering her his hand. “Far be it from me to keep the lady waiting on her eggs. I hope you made some for me too.”
Wanderers and Independents / Captain Osirus
« Last post by Salzem on Today at 05:51:21 AM »
__________________Q UICK STATS
Name Osirus
Age 39
Gender Male
Species Cyborg
Height 6'4''
Occupation Scavenger, Trader, Occasional Mercenary, and Secret Techno-Organic Virus Creator/Peddler
Residence His Ship. Safe-house on The Cancer

__________________I N-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
In armor:

Out of Armor:

Standing at 6'4'' outside of his suit and 6'8'' In it, Captain Osirus is a sight to behold in both his looks and imposing size. He has a rather respectable figure, not too bulky, not too thin though he's visibly toned and quite in shape. He typically wears a light shirt under a dark leather jacket and pants, followed by mechanized boots and gloves, though those are typically seen on the job. He's quite handsome by some human standards, possessing slick black hair, and amber eyes, a bit of stubble along his chin and down his neck.


Osirus is reasonable, intelligent and driven. Once he's devoted himself to a cause or a mission, there's no leaving it unfinished. He seeks to exploit weaknesses whenever he can find them, though this is mostly in machinery and technology more than people themselves. On the job, he can be cold, harsh and brutal, though he can act with tact whenever necessary. If someone were to go on the job with him, he isn't the kind to teach or help his partner learn. Instead, he believes in survival of the fittest and if they can't keep up with him then they should just go back to where they came from.

Off the job, Osirus is relaxed, warm and friendly, a sharp contrast to his other persona. He takes great pleasure in bars and clubs, any place with a good strong drink, music and entertainment. He spends a lot of his time in those kinds of shady establishments, often from right after a job well into the next morning. He's extremely fond of cigarettes.


Suit: Osirus' "Power-Suit" Is an effective modified environmental suit, with the addition of a power-armor shell beneath it's protective outer layer, providing the user super-enhanced strength and durability, though at a minor cost to speed and agility. It allows him to enter hostile environments from the depths of space to the burning atmosphere of dead planets and make it back okay. It comes with it's own oxygen recycling system in the helmet, a small adjustable jetpack for 0-G maneuverability and with various other gadgets and tools for survival situations.

Namely: Grenades, a grapple-hook, a drop-shield (drop a small device in front of you and it provides an energy-barrier that blocks projectiles and provides cover), small air-canisters in case of recycling failure, a motion-tracker/H.U.D and extra energy packs to power the suit. (most of these gadgets, including the suit, are powered by electricity)

The Suit is powered by small super-batteries inserted into a small panel on the chest, one of the most protected parts of the suit. At the user's command, the user can channel the energy of suit into specific parts to increase that part's effectiveness drastically, though at the significant detriment of all others. Finally, the suit itself comes with a thin energy-coating that disperses light projectiles such as rocks or smaller pieces of flying metal, though it can only serve to slow impacts of anything larger.

Gunslinger: Osirus possess a long and surprisingly accurate assault-rifle, and a super-pistol he nicknamed "Durja" who serves as his go-to weapon.

The assault rifle holds a small clip in compared to other renditions of quick-fire weapons but it's compact size and accuracy makes it any scavenger's best friend in an enclosed space. Able to swap between single-shot and automatic modes, it's useful for either shooting at large rats or blasting away at angered soldiers. However, in some situations, it's lack of spread could be a detriment, especially when facing down a large amount of enemies closing in from one side.

Durja is a slow-firing beast of a pistol with a heck of a bark and a bite to match. The weapon holds up to 10 shots, each one capable of piercing reinforced armor (though... granted that's only in the weaker parts). While it's kick is something one has to get used too and doesn't have an automatic function, this pistol's ammo supply is fairly common and cheep/easy to come across, and it's larger clip size allows the wielder to fire longer without having to reload. It has a punch of a rifle in the compact form of a pistol.

Swordsman: For those rare events he's caught without his guns, Osirus always keeps his 5-foot long sword on his person, a hilt when turned off but when switched on, it summons a large almost fish-hooked shaped sword. The blade is energy, held together by magnetic fields into it's shape and conveniently, it was modified to take the same super-batteries that his suit takes as fuel (inserted at the bottom of the hilt). On his own, Osirus is faster, stronger and has better reflexes than a normal human due to his cybernetic implants and this shows with his blade. He's able to detect and deflect weapons-fire (within reason, not deflecting HOARDS of bullets), chop through metal blast-doors with this blade or even rip apart the hulls of ships should he ever need to do that. Though, despite all these impressive feats, this blade does take exceptional time and energy to master, let alone wield in the heat of battle and it's energy source drains fast. One likely won't get more than a dozen cuts on an opponent before having to reload batteries.

Techno-Organic Virus Grenades:

Surprisingly bulky and heavily plated, Osirus only carries two of these at a time on his person and only 4 in his suit (so there's an additional two on his suit). These viruses range from a variety of effects, depending on the situation he needs them to be, but what all his grenades have in common is that inside hold a variety of inactive nanobots, that, upon the grenade's triggering, awaken with programming to devastate nearby biological and technological systems with extreme prejudice. These grenades can only be activated on Osirus' hand-print and, despite their incredible destructive power, they have a fairly small initial blast-radius. Those caught within it will die instantly (assuming they're normal people) but those that aren't are subject to the horrible fate of being eaten alive by the "virus" in a much wider surface area.


Finally his ship (the larger one), the U.T.A (United Trader's Association) "Mercantile" is perhaps one of the most heavily armored freighters to be seen in the depths of space. Half previously abandoned ship, half cobbled together by it's captain, the Mercantile is extremely durable and can take a LOAD of punishment and keeps on chugging. With reflective shielding for energy-attacks, reinforced plating against more physical blows and a dispersion field on top of all that, this ship was meant to be the Panzer of merchant ships. It's sheer size and girth equates to that of warships and has often been mistaken for such. However, despite it's LARGE size and durability, the Mercantile's weaponry and offensive capabilities are somewhat limited. Possessing energy guns and a few missile silos across both sides of the ship, that's about all it has. It's able to hold it's own with a confrontation with a dozen raiders or maybe a warship, anything more is merely a countdown until boarding or destruction unless the conditions are somehow in it's favor. Additionally, maneuverability and speed isn't the Mercantile's strong suit. With something so large, there is little it can do in the ways of agility and so other means of escape must be taken.

Also possess a raider (the smaller ship), having much more maneuverability and firepower, though at the cost of the Mercantile's defense.

His crew, help him run the Mercantile

From as long as he can remember, Osirus had always been a drifter. He didn't remember much from his childhood.... not the name of his home planet nor the face of his parents... all he remembered was an instinct for survival. From the moment he could fly a ship, Osirus had spent his time exploring old ruins off in orbit, collecting the shiniest bits and selling them to stupid people at the highest price he could get away with. He made his first credits off of misinformation and lies, but that misinformation quickly segwayed into a more honest evolution of his work... It was clear from an early age that Osirus was gifted in the ways of mechanics and science, building around his old ship over the years until it resembled the Mercantile today. He built the majority of his ship on scrap and salvage and the same went with his gear, the majority of his HARDLY what people would consider "high-quality", but most certainly as useful. He only went out on occasion to buy specific pieces from shops such as the makings for his grenades as finding those pieces would likely be more expensive than a quick trip to the store. Over the years he grew to be a very profitable if more Gun-Ho scrap merchant, easily capable of going into retirement if he chose. He had only taken up mercenary work recently and found he was good at that too, though he always prefers a good dungeon-dive into the pits of an abandoned ship than he did protecting some nervous rich-guy.
Advanced Training Complex / Re: Let's Talk About Feelings. [Moonie]
« Last post by Moonie on Today at 05:45:22 AM »
That’s what mentors were for, yes, but also instructors. Alec couldn’t believe that Vanessa hadn’t received any aid in regards to her psionics yet. Perhaps he needed to have a few words with the Director of Candidate Affairs, try to plead the importance of giving empathetic Candidate coping mechanisms and tools.

Empaths were valuable in almost any department, after all.

“It has taken me a very long time to get the kind of control I have. We just want to get you to the point where you can graduate. You’ll still be refining your skills long after you’ve been chosen by a dragon. I still work on my control every day.

“Extensive psionic training comes in Stage 4, generally speaking. I mean, that is the stage typically reserved for focusing on it. The more controlled you can keep your empathy, the easier any stage will be, however.  I’m annoyed that no one at all has tried to help you with it as of yet. Seriously, what are they doing with Candidates these days?” Alec scowled softly and leaned back in his chair, moving one leg to rest over the other as he folded his hands in his lap.

“You need to work hard on this, keeping things balled up and counting on someone else’s mood to bail you out simply won’t cut it. If you can’t take care of yourself, how can you take care of anyone else? Your fellow Pilots will be counting on you to have it together one day.” Leaning forward again, Alec pulled open a drawer on his desk and pulled out a small box, setting it in front of Vanessa with a small smile. It was a brand new mp3 player, opened only so that Alec could preprogram it with therapeutic sound tracks and guided meditation sessions. “I got you a little something. You have my permission to keep that with you at all times, just in case you think you need it.”
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