The moon whose name only a select few know or care to recall turns on its' axis at a speed coincidental with around two standard-days. The face of the barren, frozen wasteland never rises above freezing point of course, however, the temperatures of day and night are nonetheless a dramatic comparison.
This one particular morning amongst the untold thousands the permafrost had experienced in its' history sees a young Bretonian woman lying sound asleep in a warm, comfortable bed dug underneath the crust of a sheer, jagged cliff face which may have served as the banks of an ocean or river many, many aeons ago which has long since vanished.
The bright, unfiltered light of the system's solitary star bathes the tundra in blinding whiteness, reflecting off the surface directly into the eyes of whomsoever should be foolish enough to gaze upon it unshielded. This same light trickles through the small windows of the subterranean quarters the head of the McDowell Company called her new home, rousing the woman from slumber.
She passes her eyes around the room; its' furnishings and liveability outstandingly opposed to the context of the terrain surrounding it. Plastered walls bathed in a soft, baby blue paint; a warm and comfortable carpet upon a flat concrete floor; a finished ceiling with light fixtures; a wooden dresser and tables surrounding a luxurious, queen-sized bed containing the young blonde and her Kusarian partner.
Although she was now wide awake, the older of the two women quickly became aware that her partner was yet to join her "on the surface" - out cold in the land of slumber. She rolls onto her side and furtively slides over, finishing tucked behind her. Without a word and only the barest whispers of any noise she raises her torso off the soft, cushioned mattress and gently brings her teeth to rest upon the Kusarian maiden's right ear.
The frame of the victim shuffles slightly, the raven-haired girl roused from sleep and introduced to the sensation of a person nibbling on her ear; muffled giggles escaping between her attackers' teeth. Without words, she rolls over in her position to face the woman who'd so mercilessly stolen her rest, forcing the assailant to release her ear lobe.
Eva...
What ever happened to using an alarm clock?
The blonde girl paused for a moment, considering her reply.
This is more fun, wouldn't you agree?
Without being given any time to consider a rebuttal, the girl's lips were sealed with her offenders' own; an invading tongue ensuring she was in no position to make any reply.
Bodies shuffled around, the thick duvet offering regal discretion atop the pair's otherwise naked forms. The procession concluded with the blonde woman resting herself atop her younger partner in the dominate position, the two intertwined in each others' arms, the heat of passion overtaking them along with the rising sun outside.
Amidst the caressing, warm touches the two exchanged, the older woman's hand slid down the Kusarians' torso, gliding over her soft, pale skin around her slender, pubescent hips and between her unprotected thighs. A slight moan of excitement escapes the teenagers' lips, her own carnal urges excited in parallel to the woman partaking in the beauty of her being.
At that moment the unmistakable, violent screeching of a newborn baby breaks out over the entirety of the facility. Anyone who had not yet been awake immediately prior no longer bore any hope of returning to their slumber. The rocky, empty hallways of the underground facility channelled the babies' screams throughout the installation, claiming victims not only from sleep but also the activities of the pair in the masters' bedroom - one of whom was the vocal demoness' mother.
A heavy sigh emanates from mums' lips as she promptly abandons the mornings events. She roughly clambers out of the bed, locates and applies a mis-matched selection of "comfort clothing" and swaggers over the remains of the discarded pile of clothing to the heavy steel door adjoining the room to the rest of the facility. She groggily lumbers the door open and slides out, doing the same immediately after for the room containing the source of all the fuss - a two-and-a-half month old baby girl bearing the name of Sanya.
Upon entering the smaller, artificially lit room sunk slightly deeper into the cliff face, she promptly walks over to the epicentre of the current disaster, scoops her up in a loving embrace and holds the infant close to her chest.
You have some really bad timing, sweetheart. Here - breakfast is ready!
The infant almost instantly quietens down, the warmth of her mother acting as comfort. She unhesitatingly latches on to mum's presented nipple and begins suckling, mum supporting the greedy baby in her arms.
The other half of the ruined encounter casually enters the room, boasting much the same attire as her partner. It becomes apparent the two girls - of almost identical build despite the age difference - had swapped clothes unintentionally at some point.
At least she's easily pleased. Reminds me of a certain someone I know around here.
The girl giggles softly, looking down upon the achingly beautiful scene the infant's feeding presented to her. Although she herself was not of an age nor in any social position to bear a child herself, she still experienced maternal urges and desires as any other woman would.
The governess casually strolls back into her own quarters, painstakingly avoiding any disturbance of her hellspawns' feeding. She deftly reclines into an armchair strategically positioned to provide a view through the portal windows over the extensive external landing pad and hangar bays of the installation.
The girls should be back from the trip to Manhattan some time today, if I recall correctly.
Clear the landing pad for when they arrive. I can see crap parked all over the place that shouldn't be there.
Lording over the myriad of small, rag-tag craft that adorned her landing pad, the company head reclined into the seat she'd provided herself and nonchalantly hums the theme for a certain telephone-operated hypergate-themed television drama show which appeared on Bretonian spacewaves many years ago.
The underground facility known to only a select few as "Alsatia" lay dormant, its occupancy vacant on a business trip to Liberty. Only the most basic of life support systems - the air recirculator - remained operational. Not a single human soul existed both inside the base and throughout its' surroundings.
That is not to say, however, that there was no life present.
A solitary, jet-black cat awoke from its' lazy slumber atop her supposed master's bed, her favourite sleeping position marked by a noticeable impression of cat hair on the quilted covers. Another day had dawned on the isolated moon, another day whence this particular little creature had the entirety of Alsatia to herself.
Perhaps utilising mannerisms learnt from her owner, the cat tactlessly stretched and flexed her muscles and rose from her laying position, rubbing her paws across her face in true catty style.
Her shiny, regal coat reflected the morning sun, giving the cat a gorgeous shine. Unlike her human compatriot, this particular creature took great pride in its' appearance, often spending hours of any given day preening its soft, downy coat.
She casually bounded off the bed and landed silently on the floor, furtively slinking away to the place where she knew her breakfast would be waiting. The object she recognised as the place where her breakfast came from had dispensed the aforementioned at some point prior, presenting it in a bowl in the front of itself.
With the narcissistic grace of a typical female cat, she gorged on dried biscuits and the water beside her. Having filled the first of her many needs she located the lavatory facilities and immediately set about destroying it.
Whatever grace the animal may have had was ruined by the rapid expedition of the supplied kitty litter from the confines of the tray to the surrounding territory. Fortunately for the animal's life this misdeed was located in an area of the facility dedicated to such biological needs and had been constructed for ease of cleaning should such a thing ever occur.
After she had left the present for her owner to locate upon return; she set about her daily patrol of the installation's many underground passage ways. Each day she would prowl the cold, concrete corridors on the hunt for anything which might keep her entertained for a brief period. The occasional insect, for example, often gave hours of enjoyment up until its' eventual, but definite, demise - whereupon it would likely become the lunchtime snack.
Although she enjoyed the laid back nature of her current existence, the cat had not forgotten what life used to be like - for she had at one point in her life been labelled the pet of Felicia Drum. What had at one point been a loving and caring relationship gradually turned sour as her original owner sank further and further into the pits of insanity. What was once simple neglect turned into abuse, torture, injury and insult. The cat feared for its life many times and were it not for Felicia's complete collapse allowing escape, she may very well have been dead by now.
The things that her old master had done to her were simply unforgivable and were things the little cat simply did not want to reminisce about - forcing the memories out.
These thoughts occasionally invaded her mind, however, for the most part, she made the best of the new life she had been blessed with - a loving, doting owner and large, happy family who were eternally willing to lend a pat or sneak a morsel of food whenever she enquired.
Since being relocated to the base, she had once again been able to enjoy moving about gracefully - something which she had for a time been unable to do. There was a period in her life not far into history during which she was subjected to zero-gravity. A simple housecat born and raised planetside should not ever have to adapt to a weightless environment and this was something she would never forgive her current owner for no matter how many pats, hugs or kisses or how much free food she received. What at first was hopeless flailing, much to the deprived amusement of her at-the-time new master, eventually evolved into a crude ability to manoeuvre in space.
Being a highly intelligent example of a species which, admittedly, has a great... "variation" between examples, she figured out that being weightless was no different to falling. Jump in the direction you want to go and turn yourself around. Then hold on for dear life when you hit whatever it is you aimed at - hopefully it's made of a material you can get your claws into.
Either that or find a human to latch on to. The cat had developed a penchant for grabbing people and holding onto them - claws, teeth and all. Whilst they found this trait such things as "cute", "adorable" and "cuddly", it was little more than a self-preservation technique in her own mind.
Using this method the creature was able to survive on the original Alsatia - the obsolete yet hardy transport her owner called home.
Comparing that to now, of course, was a no brainer. As she sat proudly on the window sill of her masters' room preening herself as she so often did, she wondered how long it would be until she'd be greeted by a shower of affection by her new family.
She yearned for the chance to deftly patter through the cold, unloving walls of the place she called home, tail standing proud. She wanted to rub herself around her masters' legs, purring strongly and receiving a generous scrub down her back from the top of her head to the crux of her tail. She waited, patiently, staring out over the bright, glazed backdrop of the ice-laden moon as the sun rose ever higher into the sky.
Her sharp gaze noticed something in the empty sky beyond the tiny planetoids' meagre atmosphere - the unmistakable glow and aura of the transport In Silico. She of course had absolutely no understanding of what this object was was - after all there are very few cats with an understanding of economics and commerce, metallurgy, construction, fusion and internal combustion. To her it meant nothing more than her owner was coming home.
She, as anticipated, hopped off the window sill and sat beside the front door, waiting for the moment her master returned.
![[Image: DatAssSig.gif]](http://i300.photobucket.com/albums/nn23/beyer_garratt/Discovery%20Freelancer/DatAssSig.gif)
![[Image: Feliciascat.gif]](http://i300.photobucket.com/albums/nn23/beyer_garratt/Discovery%20Freelancer/Feliciascat.gif)