While one could simply fly here, the scenic cable-car is the preferred method. It runs from the beach resort to the rimtop restaurant that overlooks the ancient and thoroughly landscaped caldera. Tasha's inquiries have led her here, where Clan and other professional space-faring Vartans like to spend their time. It's also apparently something of a tradition for Vartan captains to gather at the restaurant.
While not exactly a captain, Tasha is a ship owner -- which in the grand scheme of things seems to put her somewhere above and outside captaincy. She is the boss to which the captain answers, but her actual authority on the ship must run through Gabriel, for the safety of the ship and the reliability of the command structure. That being the case, she hedges on the assumption she'll be welcome at the restaurant. If nothing else, she can say she's hoping to make contacts, meet and greet, which isn't far from the truth.
And so Tasha finds herself before the restaurant proper, having made the flight down and glad to not have to walk everywhere this time around. She loves her Karnors, but she really does think they need wings.
The restaurant doesn't seem to have a name, and is made to look like it's carved out of the volcanic basalt. Which it probably it, it's just made to look like a natural cave. There aren't any visible walls between the guests and the drop into the caldera - or any at the landing area on the outer rim. But something keeps the wind from entering. The tables are also made to look volcanic in origin - obsidian glass surfaces that still look hand-carved, with carefully calculated waves and imperfections, while the seating is almost certainly not the bamboo-and-wickerwork that it appears to be. Of the dozens of tables, only one is occupied by a trio of Vartans and a haze of smoke. A Khattan waitress in the local grass-skirt and flower-wreath dress greats Tasha in passable (if a bit hissy) Vartan, "Welcome to the Perch, how may I be of service?"
"I'd like a table," Tasha answers, trying to sound confident and a bit expectant, as Liza has been teaching her to be. A Khattan mezzode so well placed as to 'own' a ship would probably expect a certain amount of things to simply happen for her, and might not be aware of how things work for less connected beings. After all, someone made to order at not inconsiderable expense and appointed a vessel isn't likely to be left to freely wander. They would preened, educated, and if not treated with difference be raised to show difference to who made them, and in that way see themselves as extension of their creators and the respect due them.
It's a lot to get used to, coming from poverty as she has. Having beem blunt and honest as she was, as well. These days it feels like she's become someone entirely different, then someone different yet again, in series. It certainly doens't help that she recently and quite literally became someone else, something that's been lurking at the edge of her mind now that the thrill of victory and survival has faded somewhat and she has a lot of time to sit and think.
There's a flicker in the waitress's eye before she bows and says, "Right this way, Madame Tasha." Apparently she has a similar corneal display system to what the Dark Horse crew use. From behind, her tiny tail nearly vanishes into the like-colored grass of her skirt. "Would you prefer privacy, or something close to the other guests?"
"I'd like to seem accessible," the hybrid woman replies. As Tasha has learned, wealthy and influential people who expect recognition tend to couch their interest in longer words and semi-evasive phrasing. Saying she'd like visitors, or wants a romp, would be far to gauche. What's worse, she's even started to believe it!
So Tasha is brought to a table next to the ledge. There's clearly sound-dampening being employed, since one of the waterfalls is directly beneath. It does provide a nice rainbow though, at least while the sun is visible. The other occupied table is next to this one.. but some distance away. Personal space is a big deal to spacers more than it is to planetside sorts after all. "Would you like a cocktail to start?" the waitress asks.
Tasha inclines her head. "Please. Something appropriate to the venue." When in doubt, trust the servants who are in the know. Liza has (indirectly, occassionally in a voice of soft pride or exasperation) informed her she should rely on such advice. On top of that she's learned every place has their specialties, thier dishes and drinks that make this restaurant or that bar unique. Something that says this is the manner of the place. Sometimes the manner of the place is ripping off rich tourists, that she also knows, but she can weave that in to her guide just as easily. Perhaps more so, since being clueless and well beyond her original element is par for her course.
"I'll return shortly then," the waitress says, and sashays off into the shadows. All Tasha has to do to see the other table is look to her left, even though the vista from where she is is pretty scenic.
And so Tasha views water fall, quite unlike how she's seen it fall most of her life. Waterfalls aren't commonplace on Sinai, at least not where she traveled and The Rake didn't exactly stop for sight seeing. It is rather pretty, yet part of her increasingly realizes it's all a bit too much like home. She thinks she might have considered leaving soon if it was just her, but she's here to rest her crew somewhere she thought they'd recover best; sightseeing and personal relaxation is secondary, though she did need that, too. Her last mission was a new kind of rough. After gazing long enough, she looks away, seeming to catch the nearby table as her mind and eyes wander. She smiles.
The trio of Vartans are all looking at her. The oldest is a bit grizzled, and sports a clearly artificial eye (an affectation, certainly - Tasha knows natural looking prosthetics are available). His colors and build don't match Eyeshine's, thankfully. A younger male and mature female flank him, neither showing the sort of damage the older one does - but sharing a certain family resemblance. The waitress returns, setting a pineapple-shaped (and sized) mug before Tasha, which has several layers of colorful liqueur slowly blending together. The seven primary colors involved mimic the rainbow outside. It doesn't have the tiny umbrella or skewers of fruit that the beach resort likes to add.
"Thank you," Tasha says automatically. She'd use the woman's name, but she doesn't know it. As masters go, she's resolved to be a gracious one. After all, she knows all too well how rough the role of servant can be, and how easy it is to resent those above them. She did it herself. It also strikes her to wonder if her presence is even welcome by the vacationing Vartans. She's connected to Khattans powers, the Patrons, even if she isn't one herself she's obviously from -- and apparently made from -- money and power. It's too late to turn back, so she keeps smiling and says, "Lovely planet, ins't it? My Phin pilot was always talking about it, so I decided the crew could use a nice vacation."
"Nice place to retire if you can afford it," the older man says. "I did, anyway. Nicer when the chicks decide to visit!" This earns him a punch in the arm from the woman. "We visit plenty, father," she claims. The youngest of them just nods to Tasha, as if unsure what to make of her. He's the one smoking a cigar.
"My crew and I are on vacation, as I said. Whatever they may think, I'm not as old as some of them guess me to be, and I'm not ready to retire." Tasha winks, takes a sip, then continues. "I was hoping to meet some of the captains that are said to come by. Others, too. This is the right place, yes? Should we keep talking at a distance, or would you prefer I come over?"
"Come on over, you've got me curious," the patriarch says. "If you can stand the smell, with that nose of yours."
"You don't think I smoke cigars? Though," and here Tasha looks down at her outfit, or lack-there-of, and shakes her head, "I don't have mine on me and Liza is too far away. I'm fairly sure she can't teleport -- not entirely, but fairly -- so I suppose you'll have to take my word on that. Either way, I and my nose will be fine." She stands, drink in hand, and walks over pulling herself a seat. Vartans lakc the chivalry Gabriel likes to use, she knows, given how the sexes are in terms of culture and other matters.
"Baz Krogyn," the big man introduces himself and offers a talon. "My daughter Sansa Baz and youngest Rakken Baz," he adds. "Two captains, one retired."
Tasha offers her own hand, then shakes hands with the other two as well. "Aldara Tasha Argentine, effective owner of the Dark Horse. I may not be a captain, but I do boss them around on occassion." Another smile. She sips, brows raised and teasing. "Not too much, of course."
"It's always best to marry 'em, then they get to boss you around," Baz says and gives a Vartan grin. "Worked for me!" he laughs. His daughter (though definitely older than Tasha, she doesn't look quite as old as Gabriel; but with Galactic healthcare, that doesn't mean much) shakes her head and clacks her beak. "That isn't how mother tells it," she claims.
"I think my Gabriel isn't ready for that, not that he doesn't boss me around now and then. I like it, of course." And another smile, one she really doesn't need to put in any effort to craft. "So you married the owner of your vessel? I met my Gabriel after encountering him during an, um, an emergency, and we've been together since. It's only right he should captain the Horse. It's probably no surprise I'm fond of Karnors and TerraGens in general, and that's important, but you know, I do miss Vartan company sometimes."
"My Kitty owns the Falchion, extreme mass hauler," Baz claims. "Long hauls on that, and after this Captain was born.." he pats Sansa's shoulder then, ".. decided to make it all official. Not that I get a stake in things anymore." He chuckles, and has a swig of his drink - which is an opaque glass, so Tasha can't identify it.
"Mom hates when you call her Kitty you know," Sansa points out to her father. "Well, she ain't here to get upset 'bout it," Baz points out. "Can never get you all in the same room anymore, unless I want to shuttle up."
Rakken leans over and offers Tasha his cigar. "Don't mind them, dad has to fight with every woman he's close too. You're that fancy yacht then? Unique design. I guess you're a unique design too."
Sniffing doesn't help much either, not when she's on a new world thousands of years of developement departed from the backwater she grew up on. "It's the other way for me. My Gabriel had it rough, but together we worked out a plan for the future." The cigar is accepted, shifted to muzzle so she can speak and puff, never dropping it. She has enough practice to do it for hours, and the teeth help. "Thank you. Yes, the 'fancy yacht' is our Dark Horse. We do love our unique designs, yes? As I said, we have a Phin pilot and several other Terragens members, a Vartan, a Vartan intern, othr Mezzodes like myself and there's the AI too. We've been going through our paces."
"Still in shakedown?" Sansa asks. "Didn't notice a House affiliation in your registry. So.. making sure some prince's toy won't kill him?"
"My House prefers to let its work speak for itself, rather than force things by name like some Houses do. Our general goal is already underway: To be a ship and crew piloted by a variety of species, especially Khattan, Vartan, and Terragens members. You've probably figured out our agenda is Terra Primest, and that's true. We have various associations. But, I must also see we turn a profit and maintain our affairs, otherwise it's just for show and who is to say we really function as a group? So we take on various tasks as seem appropriate, under my direction," explains Tasha.
"Ugh, I hate being the supercargo assistant on Falchion," Rakken says. "You're probably just moving VIPs around then? Can't exactly haul stuff in a yacht."
"Well we do special tasks. We have talented people, so why not use them where their talents matter? We've taken to survey tasks in less ... hospitable areas. It seems appropriate given the stories of the old Expedition. Come together, work together, go, explore, exploit, profit for all." Tasha does her best not to cringe at her own growing Khattanness, which manifests itself as a thrill of excitement over the possibility of adventure -- and woefully -- of exploitation and profit. She sips, long and hard. "Though sometimes we do move VIPs. Our missions vary considerably."
"We mostly haul consumables to stations," Sansa explains. "Ice and other high mass loads. Not many merchant ships can haul heavy module-chains through hyperspace."
Tasha nods to this, even though she didn't actually know how these things worked. She did assume something had to move all those big parts across space, that they didn't just materialize in the black. At least, not at Galactic level technology. "It's an important job. Someone has to move these things, and wheer would we be without them?" And so she lifts her drink in salute to the people who haul the important things. It wasn't all that long ago she did the same.
"We'd be paying the Celestials' high rates," Baz claims as they all lift there glasses. "Or forcin' the spacer Clans to do it at even bigger cost."
"I'm sure some of them would complain, too. My intern is very high beaked about some things." Here Tasha slips an eye-roll, but decides to just go with it. As a Terra Primest and as someone professed to having an open mind, she could see herself finding Lacci's behavior silly even in guise. "She really does need to relax. Hopefully she's doing that right now. Tough she may be, for some things, but I tell you she has a burr in her feathers."
"Clan girl?" Rakken guesses.
"Yes. I won't say which, the others have been pleasant and I've met some of their higher-ups, but the woman herself needs work. She has potential, I think, but ... Yes, work." Tasha's head shakes. She can only hope Lacci is learning to unwind, though she has at least been mildly surprised the young Vartan hasn't asked to go home yet. Potential, like she said.
"Sounds like a C-n-C Clan then," Baz says. "Met a few of them. Colony setup usually needs a lot of stuff, and a lot gets contracted out to haulers like us."
"You're not wrong. We met her when we were doing the initial preperations. We have an office out in Caltrop, you see. An interesting place, Caltrop." Interesting and familiar. Tasha has been to many places like it, even if they were so very different. Periperial haunts seem to exist anywhere there's people, and people who need to live and act in the grey. "Do you get out that far?"
"A few times," Sansa notes. "The bigger mining operations likes to sell in bulk, so we link up the tanks and take on the supercargo, then make the rounds. It's always a bit iffy though, since they don't generally have prearranged sales. But the bigger stations always have ships willing to get fuel at a discount, so long as the stationmaster doesn't find out."
Tasha cracks a smile. "I'm sure you'd do just fine on Caltrop, then." She inhales yet again, gaze lingering on the distant falls and far away for a long moment. "So, what other sort of fun can be had around here? I've seen the list of attractions, perhaps you have something else that's not on the lists? Something Vartan."
"Hunting," Baz says. "The Terrans turned the volcano into a hunting park here. There are a few other dedicated islands too. Vartans, Karnors and Humans are the only ones with a real hunting tradition. Silent-Ones have one, but it's only for the nobility."
"Humans cheat though," Sansa claims. "They use sharpened sticks."
"I've seen some of their hunting Titans. Somehow I doubt it would be sporting if I brought my own to the hunt, of course." Tasha draws in a deep breath, nodding slowly. She exhales. "Humans always cheat, it's one of their endearing qualities. But they're rather tiny and a bit flimsy looking, so can you really blame them?"
"They have sneaky monkey fighting techniques," Baz notes. "But.. they got good hunting animals. Giant boars, walking birds with axe-beaks, and I hear that elephants sometimes agree to hunt. They're the scariest though."
"Humans can be scary as well, even the tiny ones." Especially the tiny ones. "But I don't think I'm of a mind for hunting. I know, I know," Tasha reaches up, tapping the side of her muzzle, "Karnor. Hunting. But our survey work is a hunt all its own, and the last outing was more hunt than most. We dealth with a, mmm, a stellar-level complication and I felt the crew could use a rest after that. I was hoping to relax in a more comforting way."
"What's a more comforting way for you to relax, then?" Sansa asks, cocking her head. "Fishing?"
A grin spreads at the edges of Tasha's muzzle. "A different kind of hunting, perhaps."
"You mean shopping?" Rakken asks.
"Well, no." Tasha begins to think that being indirect and Khattan maybe isn't the best choice with her own kind, and that making the mistake in the first place says something about how much she's changed. She sighs just a little, slinking back in her chair and twirling her drink. "Mostly, I mean something personal. Our two Vartans really aren't very suited to that, and it's been some time since I lost the captain I used to know. I realized I'd been missing something when I spoke with our intern, but she's so shy and I'm a bit much for her. Maybe some day? It's not something I expect of my crew, of course, but, well ... " She lifts a hand, indicating where they are. "I thought I'd look elsewhere."
"Ah," Sansa says, and winks. "You should come with me then. We can get something to go.. what do you like on your pizza?"
"I've heard apply pinapple to everything here ... " Tasha smiles. For a while she'd begun to wonder if she'd lost another thing in the sea of changes and horrors she's sailed through, but maybe she hasn't quite forgotten how ti be direct -- or how to be attractive to people living more regular lives. Either way, maybe she can finally scratch the itch and try and forget she was someone else along the way. She can hope.