Sable's Experiences

[Toaster]

May 19, 830 A.S.

Olivia stood arms akimbo before the scorched, dented, and thoroughly mangled wreck that was her Stinger. Smoke still billowed from the hole in its center, a gaping wound burned clear through the ship's core with edges of molten steel. The reactor within continued burning, the mechanics and technicians unable to approach the still reacting fusion mass. It would need to burn out on its own, hopefully not melting the rest of the ship as it did.

Once the fire was doused, the repairs could begin. They would take weeks, if not months, and would cost the mercenary a fortune - most of her savings, in fact. The owner of this small maintenance business had told her as much, suggesting that she would be better off selling the Stinger's remains for scrap and spare parts. Renzu parts did, after all, fetch a handsome price on the used market; which was exactly why insisting on the ship's restoration would bleed Olivia's credit accounts dry. Nevertheless, she insisted.

"Take good care of her," the mercenary growled at the the stocky proprietor beside her.

"Of course, ma'am. We offer only the best services at Matthew And Matthew Limi-"

Olivia shot the man a glare that could have molten through three feet of armor plating. He stammered a farewell and hurried off to the small office room at the far end of the hangar, a swarm of employees abandoning their cautiously distant inspection of the Stinger's wreck and following him.

The mercenary glanced back at what remained of her ship and sighed. It looked to be in little better shape than what remains she had found of her first model, her Sutinga. Though, while that ship had been far beyond recovering, not to speak of repairing, she held out hopes that this one would one day fly again. Until then, she would need a new ride.

"I see your manners haven't improved! Hah!"

Olivia turned on her heels, crossing her arms before her. Approaching her from the hangar's open doors was a lean man, his hair a mess of short, dirty blond, a tan trench coat billowing around him as he strode jovially towards the mercenary. An enormous grin seemingly split his face in two. Olivia frowned at the sight.

"Now, now, don't scowl at me like that," the man chided with a laugh. Coming to a stop before her, he spread out his arms as if to embrace the mercenary, but, seeing her make no move to return the gesture, lowered them again. "It's not me who wrecked your ship!" Another laugh.

"Beige, please," Olivia finally managed to mutter through gritted teeth, wrestling with the urge to punch the man - her friend - square on the nose, "I'm not in the mood for jokes."

Beige glanced over the woman's shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the sight of her Stinger's smoldering remains.

"No," he said with faux seriousness, "I suppose you wouldn't be." Then his face broke out into a blinding smile again as he stepped beside Olivia and threw an arm around her shoulder, pushing her toward the hangar's door and the small landing field beyond. "Come on, old girl! I've got something to show you!"

Begrudgingly, Olivia let him push her along, out of the hot interior of the hangar, reeking of smoke, molten metal, and spilled coolant, into the relatively fresh air outside. The field was little more than a few acres of concrete on the outskirts of an industrial zone on Houston. Half a dozen ships stood in the open, varying in size from small personal shuttles to far larger long-haul freighters, each in various states of disrepair and decay - likely awaiting a final lift to the nearest scrap yard. One ship, however, quickly caught the mercenary's attention, and it was this craft that Beige prodded her towards.

"Now, isn't that just a beauty?" He exclaimed as they approached. Olivia stopped a few yards short of the vessel, crossing her arms again as she inspected it.

"It's seen better days," she muttered, noting the patches of rust, stained heat exhaust ports, and scorched hull panels. Beige guffawed.

"Oh, come now! I know you've always wanted to fly one of these!" He stepped towards the ship, puffing out his chest and raising his arms in a grandiose gesture. "The mighty Falcon, a staple of CTE Manufacturing's ingenuity and reliability!"

Olivia glanced at him.

"Did you pull this out of a junkyard?"

Beige deflated before her and sheepishly looked back over his shoulder.

"Yeah."

Sighing again, Olivia reached up and rubbed her eyes.

"But look!" Beige's eyes lit up again as he skipped back to her side. "You said you needed a ship, and here it is! And," he nudged her with an elbow and winked, "it's free of charge!"

Olivia gave him a sidelong look at the notion, then walked up to the Falcon's discolored nose. She could see herself reflected in the ship's tinted canopy - a frightful sight. Her hair a greasy mess, bruises covering half her jaw and neck, and two long scars running across her face. A slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe, she thought, this battered mess of a ship was just the perfect match for her.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Beige grinning at her and knew he'd had the same thought.

"Will she fly?"

Beige leapt forward with a hoot and slapped the mercenary on the shoulder.

"Oh, she'll fly alright! Fastest thing you've ever sat in, and nimble, too! Just," he leaned in close and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "take it easy in atmosphere. The rudder's a little stiff." Then he leaned back again and let out a whooping laugh. "Oh, Sable, you're gonna love each other!"

Olivia could not help but chuckle.

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Olivia Sable