Upon being chased out of the Earhart system by a horde of bloodthirsty corsairs, the group, consisting of three Freelancers, made their way to Livadia Shipyard to seek refuge and talk about the events that just went down. Tia Stormclaw and Diana Rivera were the first ones to arrive in one of the station's many hangar bays. Kris, who tried to buy the duo some time, was presumed to arrive shortly after.
Diana took a fair bit to exit her ship after touchdown. She was sitting in her pilot seat, shaking uncontrollably as she recalled the events that had just gone down. She eventually got up and extended the loading ramp of her snubcraft, more or less stumbling down and making her way to the station's bar to grab a drink and meet up with the others. Her blood was still boiling with adrenalin, possibly being the only reason she was still standing at all. A few burns now decorated her hands, arms and her right cheek, inflicted by an onboard fire that happened upon clearing the Suhl anomaly.
She ordered three glasses of whatever the barkeeper had just given to the other guests, before sitting down in a secluded part of the bar to wait for Tia. Her eyes wandered around the other guests, still paranoid about the potential presence of Corsairs.
Tia stepped into the dimly lit bar, her sharp, predatory gaze scanning the room. The air was thick with the scent of oil, cheap liquor, and the faint tang of metal shavings—a reminder that this wasn’t just any bar. It was a place for pilots, mechanics, and outcasts who had nowhere else to go. Conversations were quiet, spoken in hushed voices over half-empty glasses, the occasional burst of laughter breaking the monotony.
She spotted Diana almost immediately.
The woman sat hunched over a drink, her fingers wrapped tightly around the glass as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. Her breathing was controlled, but the slight tremble in her shoulders gave her away. The whiplash of everything they’d just been through was still fresh in her mind—the pulsars, the dark matter storm, the Corsair ambush, and the encounter with Psyche. It had all happened so fast. Too fast.
Tia, on the other hand, moved through the room with an effortless calm. It didn’t faze her. Neutron stars, dark matter, pirates, Nomads—just another day on the job. If anything, she found it amusing how quickly things could spiral out of control.
She strode forward, her presence drawing subtle glances. She was used to it. The long black hair draping over her bare, tattooed shoulders, the sleeveless cropped jacket that gave a perfect view of her toned arms and the scars beneath the ink, the armored gloves that stretched to her elbows, adorned with small, metallic skulls—every part of her appearance screamed danger. And then there were her thighs, left exposed between her shorts and the top of her knee-high boots, adding to the contrast of her otherwise combat-ready look.
Tia didn’t need to intimidate anyone. She just existed, and that was enough.
She slid into the seat across from Diana, leaning back casually, one arm draped over the backrest. She studied the woman in front of her, watching the way her fingers tensed around the glass, the way her eyes kept darting toward the door as if expecting another disaster to walk through at any moment.
Tia exhaled through her nose, a mixture of amusement and mild sympathy in her expression.
"You okay?" she asked, her voice low but steady. She glanced at Diana’s hands—there were light burns, nothing too serious but still painful. "I can take care of those burns, you know?"
Tia turned her attention to the bartender—or at least, the empty space behind the counter where they should have been. She sighed, drumming her fingers lightly against the table.
"I swear, every time I come here, the bartender’s either missing or drunker than the customers," she muttered. "Not a great look for a shipyard, but hey, at least the drinks are strong."
She leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table, her fingers tracing patterns along the worn-out metal surface. "You know, I’ve seen pilots crack after less. You held it together pretty well back there." A pause. Then, a smirk. "But you look like you could use that drink more than me."
Diana was stuck in a downwards spiral of shock, from which she wasn't able to escape on her own. Tia almost pulled her out of it, causing her grip to tighten so much that she almost broke the glass her hands had clung to for the past ten minutes. Her gaze wandered over them, seeing the light burns, before she made eye contact with the woman sitting opposite to her. "I'll ... take care of them once I'm back on my ship. It's okay." Diana replied in a rather warm tone, even given the current circumstances.
"I'll take another one, if you order it. Another two, unless you mind." Her voice became less audible with every word, as if she was ashamed to resort to alcohol to cope with what she had seen that day. She tilted her head forward, letting her ginger hair almost cover her entire face before taking a deep breather, followed by the attempt to pull her hair back again. An oblivious person wouldn't notice a change, but she was close to tearing up, resorting to this short break to hopefully swallow it down and keep her composure. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I know you most likely regret taking me to Earhart given how not-well I handled that. Do you know when Kris will be here? He made it sound like he was right behind us, but I haven't seen him since." An attempt was made at continuing the conversation, hoping Tia would focus more on the question than the accusation Diana just made.
Diana instinctively pulled her flight suit's sleeves further down, trying to cover up the burns so she, and others, wouldn't see them. Her flight suit was well cared for, indicating that she either had to replace it often, or that she rarely ever saw physical combat. Further indication for the latter of both options was the lack of a firearm on her belt, but rather a small pouch with hidden contents hanging from where one would usually place their holster.
Tia frowned, her sharp eyes scanning the woman across from her. Diana was still shaking, the aftershock of their harrowing journey evident in the way she gripped her drink like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Tia had seen this kind of reaction before—the silent unraveling, the battle between relief and lingering fear. She understood it, but she wasn’t one to let someone she respected drown in it.
She leaned forward, her voice steady, grounding. “I saw Kris on the scanner near Livadia. He should be here soon.”
Taking that moment, Tia reached forward with deliberate gentleness, taking Diana’s hand into her own. For someone whose reputation was built on violence, her touch was unexpectedly careful, almost tender. She slowly slid back Diana’s sleeve, revealing the burn beneath it. The wound was raw, angry, a painful reminder of how close they had come to not making it out at all. But Tia didn’t flinch.
“Look at me,” she said, her voice calm yet commanding. Tia waited, patient but firm, until their eyes met. There was no pity in Tia’s gaze, only understanding. “This is proof that you are a survivor. You don’t need to be ashamed of it. You don’t need to fear it. Be proud of it. Escaping death isn’t something many people have the luxury of.”
Her words hung in the air, the weight of them settling deep. Then, slowly, she traced her fingers along the edge of the wound, careful not to cause Diana any more pain than necessary. It was a gesture of acknowledgment, of respect—not for the injury itself, but for the story it told.
Then, without a word, Tia laid Diana’s hand down and began peeling off her own right glove. The process was slow, methodical, as if she was preparing to unveil something sacred. When the glove came off, what lay beneath was enough to make even the hardiest of soldiers pause.
Scars—some deep, some faint—etched a brutal history into her flesh. Burn marks, lacerations, signs of old wounds that should have left her crippled, if not dead. Her arm looked more like something forged in war than something belonging to a person. And yet, she flexed her fingers with ease, as if daring anyone to question how it was still attached to her body.
Without hesitation, she took Diana’s hand again and pressed it against her own forearm, letting her feel the rough, uneven texture of the countless battles she had survived.
“I used to fear this,” Tia admitted, her voice softer now, almost distant. “These scars. The pain that came with them. Flames, bullets, blades, acid... so many things have touched this arm that I’ve lost count. And for a long time, I let that fear control me. I let it make me feel like I was broken, like I was less than what I used to be.”
She shook her head slightly, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. “But fear? It shuts you in. It chains you to the past. And I refuse to let anything—anyone—keep me trapped like that.”
She pulled her arm back, slipping the glove back on like she was donning armor, reinforcing the wall between herself and the world. But before she leaned back, she gave Diana one final look, something unspoken passing between them.
“You are a survivor,” she repeated, her tone unwavering. “Own it.”
With that, Tia leaned back in her chair, waiting for the bartender to come around. She didn’t press for a response. She didn’t need to. The lesson had been given—it was up to Diana whether she took it to heart.
It was quite noticable that Diana was almost afraid of touch, giving a decent amount of resistance at first as Tia grabbed her hand. Given how her facial expression wasn't filled with pain caused by the wound, but a piercing gaze that observed each of the woman's moves like a camera, made it clear how fine the line was that Tia was treading. For someone who had barely held herself together a few seconds ago, she seemed quite aware and present in the moment. She did not speak a word as Tia talked to her, simply observing her movements and listening to her voice that hinted at the amount of experience she had.
Her fingers barely moved when Tia guided her hand towards her own forarm. They didn't need to, as they were already resting on top of scars of various sizes, showing her that the trust she placed in Tia was not misguided, as the woman had probably already survived much more dire situations. Diana's focus constantly swapped between what she felt, and what she was hearing. Someone else's skin touching her own was an eery feeling, yet the woman's words were inspiring and supportive - an experience quite contrary to the tone that she usually connected with physical touch. The Oracle let her arm rest on the table for some time, even after Tia had let go of it. She was still making eyecontact, no matter if it was returned or not. Some goosebumps formed on her skin, surrounding the wound much like the Corsairs did with them just an hour ago.
"I know you're right, even if it doesn't feel like it. I ... hope I will not need more near death experiences to accept your words for the truth that they are." The tone of her voice was insecure, yet clearly spoken - to show Tia the proper respect after seemingly going against everything she portrayed, just to try and talk her out of this miserable mindset. She pulled her arm back and almost dragged the suit's sleeve back over the wound, before hesitatingly letting go of it and leaving the burned tissue on open display.
Diana took another deep breath, tracing the seams of Tia's flight suit with her gaze as she forged her thoughts into words. "When we talked about our views on ... them, I thought I knew exactly what I was talking about. I thought I had figured it out, learned everything from our elders and was ready to inspire others with my knowledge and opinions. Yet ...", a long break followed, another test of her shifting composure, "... when I first saw the Light again, everything I knew was thrown out the window. It made me realize how much I have yet to learn, and how little I actually know."
Tia waved the bartender over with an impatient flick of her fingers, well aware that if she waited for the man to make his rounds naturally, they’d be old and grey by the time he arrived. She didn’t even look at Diana as she spoke.
“Assumption of one’s knowledge is the gravest mistake one can make, even if they assume their own.”
There was a brief silence between them, filled only by the ambient hum of conversations in the bar. The scent of engine grease, burning tobacco, and stale alcohol clung to the air—Livadia wasn’t exactly known for its refinement.
Then, as if shaking off a stray thought, Tia exhaled sharply and leaned forward again, resting her arms on the table. She glanced at Diana, finally meeting her gaze.
“What I’m trying to say is… there’s always something to learn. No matter how much we think we know, there’s always something new, something that challenges the way we see things. Sometimes, it even goes against what we thought we understood. It’s weird, but us having this conversation is proof of that.”
Before Diana could respond, the bartender finally arrived, setting two fresh drinks down with a grunt. Tia grabbed her glass without hesitation, lifting it slightly.
“Try to drink to happy times ahead rather than what happened.” Her voice was steady but laced with something deeper, something unspoken. Then, she took a sip, letting the familiar burn of the alcohol settle in her throat.
The moment of reflection was short-lived, however. Tia paused, frowning down at her drink, then glanced at Diana’s with a raised brow.
“Are we drinking Sidewinders? Why is everyone drinking Sidewinders?” Her confusion was genuine, as if only now realizing the trend. She scoffed slightly, shaking her head before taking another sip. “Is there some kind of rule on this station that I missed? ‘Mandatory Sidewinder consumption or get the hell out’?”
She smirked slightly, a small glimmer of amusement breaking through the usual steel in her demeanor.
Kris's arrival was late - but in the end, he had arrived nonetheless.
Soon, there would be two more who would join them - a particularly tall and slender lady made of dark steel alloys and synthetic skin, and a lithe, shorter boy with a prosthetic arm, both of whom looked as though they had definitely seen better days. The unlikely duo was somewhat hard to miss from a distance, due to the prolonged and notably exuberant back and forths between the two. And it wasn't long before they both walked towards the table where the two sat.
"Hey - mind if I cut in?"
From a closer distance, one could recognize the shorter boy as Kris, as he grasped his flight helmet with his other arm as though it were a hovercycle casque. There was a small smirk on his jovial baby face - but even an inattentive observer could easily notice that one of his eyes lacked the same vibrant blue color the other one had, as though it was some kind of failed replacement. If one was to inspect him further, it would become apparent that the complexity of his prosthetic arm looked entirely unremarkable, as though the gaps in its structure suggest that it was built for utility, and certainly not for looks. Something that reflected his entire look, from the holey and ruined leather in his brown coat, down to the plenitude of scratches on his flight helmet. For some reason, it bore faded GMG markings.
On the other hand, his counterpart certainly looked more refined and composed. Amsel's stature was impressive, but that was chiefly due to her robotic endowments. Her eyes exuded a faint artificial glow, an indicative sign of her nature. In spite of the few imperfections one could easily miss with a quick glance, she looked and acted and walked and sounded very much like a regular being of the female variety, almost seamlessly so. Her humble dress shirt wasn't enough to conceal her slender arm chassis, with a plethora of thin wires connecting all of her extremities without them being a hindrance to her dexterous form. Amsel was designed for speed and war in mind - and her entire chassis seemed to represent that. But only a keener eye could notice the smaller repair patches and the uneven plate adjustments and color tonality - she had lived for a while, and her replacement parts, or lackthereof, were proof of that.
In their strange appearance, the unlikely duo seemed to work well in symbiosis. And despite their endless bickering, they appeared ready for discussions.
"I would like to apologise for the hold-up. Livadia is a secluded location and a major shipyard for the Zoners, and the local sec team looks very uptight about any outsiders coming in to snoop around - and rightly so, I suppose."
"Yeah - we both had to go through FIVE different EM security scans - since, y'know..." Kris would gesticulate at his arm with a pointed finger and provided stiff smile, along with a little shrug. "Oh, and we went through a ton of trouble with customs. Apparently, they also thought Amsel was like, a weird hired Core killer robot or whatever-- Ow."
Amsel gave Kris a small nudge.
"I don't think saying the words 'Core killer robot' out loud would be entirely ideal in this current location. Time and place."
"...Except you just... did? ...Erm, anyways. Hi, it's me - Kris. The-- the guy from space. And this here is my secretary-slash-bodyguard-slash-pickle jar opener Amsel. Say hi, Amsel. Don't be shy."
For a hired guard machine with a serious temperament, Amsel looked puzzled, and looked over to the two ladies sitting at the table in sheer confusion. In spite of this, she shyly raised her robotic arm and waved it awkwardly, as her joints whirred happily.
Diana was in the middle of a faded chuckle caused by Tia's distaste for the local liquor offering, as she was pulled out of it by the duo's arrival. She was a bit startled, even though the two woman had been waiting for them for a considerable amount of time now. Even with the technological advancements of the current day, a fully functional android was still an unusual sight - depending on the circumstances of someone's upbringing.
The Oracle's gaze wandered over both figures individually, taking in the details for just a moment before choosing the tone of her greeting. It was her first time speaking face to face with an android and with the amount of augmentations Kris had to show, one could easily mistake him for one as well. "I can't blame them for triple checking irregular visitors, given they can't trust their honesty. One cannot hold them responsible for being wary, given their peoples' lives are on the line." Her tone was neutral, as she wasn't sure what to think of either of them just yet. Kris and her had joked together on the occasion, yet his seemingly recent connections to the Nomads put quite the dent in her opinion of him. Not because of what had happened, but rather the lack of clarity about his past.
Diana hadn't touched her drink yet, although the ones she already had prior to Tia's arrival began to unfold their effect at a steady pace. "Perhaps I should take away a lesson from their actions and apply it to my own habits, especially when I need to put trust in someone." She was certainly not kind in her words while addressing Kris, but that served well to push some of the anxiety and trauma of a near death experience out of her system.
Her gaze focused on the surprisingly tall female android that accompanied him. The guy certainly didn't lie when he said that she wouldn't have been able to accompany him in the smaller vessel that he piloted on the day of their first meeting. Diana did have some prejudice against artificial intelligences, in that she did not trust them to make fully independant decisions that aren't tainted by their creator's intentions. The same could obviously said for a human subordinates, however they aren't bound to orders by some sort of programming and can exercise free will - in most cases.
"Anyways ... sit down and order something to drink, you'll be in luck if you like Sidewinders." She gestured for the two to sit down, one on each side. A quick glance down at her own belt followed, checking for the pouch and if she had spilled any of the drinks on her flight suit. Even if she was already tipsy and still close to breaking down, she wanted to make sure to look presentable. She put her hair into a ponytail with a rubberband, making sure it wouldn't fall in her face again for whatever reason.
Tia barely spared a glance at Kris and Amsel as they entered the bar. She had been around long enough to see all manner of people, augmented or not, and the sight of an enhanced human and his android companion was hardly something that would draw more than a passing thought from her. Instead, she took a slow sip of her drink, watching them over the rim of her glass as they approached. She noted the way Kris carried himself, still riding the tension from the chaos earlier, and Amsel’s ever-calculating gaze scanning the room, as if assessing threats. They were both alert—rightfully so—but at least they were here, alive.
"You two took your time," Tia finally said, her voice calm but edged with her usual sharpness. "But then again, Zoners can be an annoying bunch from time to time." She leaned back slightly, rolling her shoulders to ease out some of the residual stiffness from the earlier ordeals. Livadia was one of the safer places in the Edge Worlds, but she never let her guard down completely.
She tapped her fingers against the side of her glass for a moment before shifting her weight and moving closer to Diana, making room. "Let me offer you my seat," she said, gesturing toward the spot across Diana. "I believe you two would prefer to sit together." It was less a question and more of a statement, as if she had already decided it was the right course of action.
As Kris and Amsel settled in, Tia studied them with quiet curiosity. They had survived the madness of Omega-58, the dark matter storm, and the ever-dangerous path through Thuringia. They had made it through with their hulls intact and their minds still sharp—perhaps shaken, but not broken. That alone was worth a nod of respect.
She lifted her glass again, swirling the liquid inside before taking another drink. "Well now," she said, exhaling as she set it down, "I think we can share our other stories. Forget about what happened today. I think we have a lot to share between us. If you are all up for it, that is..."
Her tone was more of an invitation than a command, but there was an undeniable weight behind her words. She was never one for pointless small talk, but after everything they had endured, maybe it was time for something different—something that didn’t involve running, fighting, or barely scraping by.
Tia looked at the others expectantly, waiting to see who would be the first to break the silence.
"I'll take you up on that offer, there isn't too much to tell anyways. I've been spending most of my recent time within a cryopod aboard my ship. I was ... lost, back when our organisation disbanded. I was distanced from my parents, and each of our elders made their way into hiding, never to be seen again. Most of my teenage years were spent following their teachings and learning their ways. And then ... suddenly there was nothing to guide me anymore, nobody to hold on to. Call it foolish, but pausing the world around me felt like a good idea at the time." Diana talked quite freely, given the alcohol's assistance. Her gaze switched between her glass, Kris's eyes and Amsel's mechanical arms. She only looked over to Tia once she was done talking, expecting the tough know-an-answer-to-everything Freelancer to have just the fitting one-liner to react to the short tale.
There were numerous more stories to be told, but few of them were suitable for a conversation between four individuals that , for the most part, barely knew one another outside of the events that had taken place that evening. Her hand reached down to her pouch once more, as if she was slowly pressured into accessing something contained within. Her movements were quite subtle, contrary to her tipsy state. Whatever it was, she wasn't taking pride in it.
