Posts: 3,370
Threads: 294
Joined: Dec 2009
Staff roles: Server Administrator
After a long day of flights back and forth between Malta and Ouray, Sarita was glad to have a chance to stand on her own two feet. She had been taking lots of notes as of late; notes about the Xenos, notes about Fiorella de Marco, notes about future smuggling operations, notes about philosophy and personal accomplishment, and now, notes about Cobra himself. She made a habit of writing with pen and paper, finding it helped cement ideas into her memory better than typing at a holoterminal, and for the first time in years, her writing hand had begun to cramp.
Not that she would be willing to reveal her fatigue now, of course. The mooring procedures completed, she exited the Especulador and made her way to Ouray's hangar bay, receiving ugly looks but not so much as a word from every gruff nationalist she passed in the ramshackle metal halls. The sleek black respirator strapped tightly to her head, which fully covered her nose and mouth, immediately marked her as an Outcast, as someone whose uncanny presence was only barely tolerated. Here, of all places, that toleration was even more conditional than anywhere else. Sarita didn't mind; as she saw it, it was useful to have such an aura to outsiders. She didn't need to explain herself, or inform others of their place. The respirator said it all, most of the time.
Soon, however, she would have to speak for herself. The leader, as far as she knew, of the entire Xeno movement was meeting her in a few moments. She glanced down at her flightsuit, and readjusted her pistol holster on her hip when no one was looking. After a few deep breaths, she entered the hangar bay and waited for Cobra's arrival.
