In one corner of the room, and Silent-One snores fitfully while Egypt collects various bits and bobs and stuffs them into a sack. "I just have my fumitor, Kiz'zeek'ra, and.. some stuff. And my special herbs and spices," the Confederate babbles at Tasha. At least her feet are on the ground now. "I don't have anyone in a container, living or dead. Ssss.. I forget his name, pretty sure it started with a Ssss sound though.. isn't dead, he's just passed out. You can tell by the snoring. Dead people almost never snore," she rambles. "And I don't think I'm a spy," she adds pausing a moment to scratch her head in thought.
"Well, everyone's something right?" A bemused Tasha watches the Eeee aproach the act of preperation in a seemingly aimless babble, a chiroterian dust devil of sound and collect that seems to sweep up everything in a whirl. She stands just inside the door where she can see people enter but they can't immediately see her, wondering if very low tech tricks still work out here where every tree, box, and eyeball could be a complex technological wonder. "Is the ... Is Ssss coming along, then? And your fumitor? Three, then? And herbs? You said herbs."
"Yes.. dried plants, you know?" Egypt notes, then looks at the loudly sleeping Silent-One. "I.. don't think I'm supposed to take him with me. I just don't remember where he came from. I didn't think a fumitor would count.. he's just a baby still, see?" She then holds up one of the frog-like, tentacled bio-hookahs. It blinks at Tasha, but its eyes don't have pupils so it's hard to tell if it's actually looking at her.
"I'll consider that, um, organic luggage then," Tasha offers. She's seen the peculiar bio-machines before, even used them, but she still can't quite wrap her head around their use. They're so much different than machines in a way she can't entirely pin down, and she doesn't think it's because they're organic. She has plenty of organic and mechanical friends; she's even partly mechanical herself. She suspects it's because they don't look purpose-orineted, looking more like animals converted to machines than biological constructs designed entirely be a machine, even if that's actually the case. She turns her attention to the Silent-One, walking over to prod at him with a hoof. "I do need to know if he's coming, since if I don't know, he could be left behind."
The man(?) barks cutely and rolls over, trying to burrow deeper into the blanket that's been loosely tossed over him. Egypt grabs a few more things (some of which also make rather animate sounds). "Oh.. how much will passage cost?" Egypt asks. "I need to go to.. uh.. well, I think I told your office, so they should know."
Tasha cocks her head to the side. At first she thought Mr. Invention might have fogotten to mention the cost of travel, but the idea of Mr. Invention forgetting any important, semi-important, or trivial detail strikes her as patently absurd. More likely, she decides, this empty-headed bat has forgotten -- or at least appears to have forgotten. "The office will have discussed the cost of travel when you contacted us, if you have any questions about fees and prices please contact the office again. I'm only here to check on your needs and to see if you're a 'fit'" -- that was the word they used back in the office, fit -- " ... for our charter services. Please do have payment in mind before you travel." She's beginning to think these people are some sort of test to see if she can spot con artists; she never did have to evaluate passengers back on The Rake.
The bat reaches into her sack and pulls out a fistful of credit chips. "Oh.. right. I only have.. 135 million credits. That's enough, probably. Right?"
Tasha immediately pulls out her datapad and punches through menus, rechecking that cost of boarding. Her ears flick.
Mr. I's estimated fare was 35,000 credits.
"That's probably good enough," Tasha stumbles. To be safe, she scans the credits too -- they could be fake! No one this flighty walks around casually mentioning millions in liquid, stealable assets, do they? The hybrid woman isn't sure if that makes her afraid of the Eeee; anyone who can safely smuggle so much loose money can't be the airhead she appears to be.
Can she?
Indeed, the bat was wrong about the amount. It's 315 million credits, spread across dozens of chips with various logos.
What in all the gods ..? If anything this makes Tasha even more nervous. Whoever the woman is, she's collected enough randomized credit chips to live anywhere that doesn't require traceable lines of credit and income, as she understands it, which means a great many places that aren't too close to the heart of Galactic power. It's the kind of wealth she's expect from someone like Dr. Yue Sen, or for that matter, someone like herself, except she is now vaguely respectable with actual accounts now. And if Egypt isn't a government actor, then Tasha thinks she must be a criminal, or at the very least someone who had fled from a position of power in to the shadows.
An interesting person, in other words. Tasha's money would be on Confederate spy, planted on their ship to make contact under the guise of a traveler.
Tasha nods slowly. "Oookay, well, your assets check out. Please decide if the Silent-One is coming, and that he or she can pay, and I'll approve your boarding."
Egypt giggles at having her assets checked out for some reason, then she finds a bottle of something, and after sniffing it first she pours it out on the Silent-One. And like many cats, Silent-Ones don't like getting unexpectedly wet. After some hissing and trying to attack his blanket, he finally comes to his senses and stands up. He's got a Titan Pilot uniform on. He looks around in confusion, checks his wrist display and instantly sobers up at whatever he sees and bolts out of the domicile.
"I don't think he's coming," Egypt says.
"Just one then." Tasha taps her datapad with the confirmation, along side a request that the office check or recheck Egypt's background. "Well! That about covers it, I think. Is there anything else, do you need special accomidations, cargo space, will coffee kill you, anything?"
"What sort of coffee?" the bat asks suspiciously, actually narrowing her eyes.
"Well there's Terran black, then there's these other things Terran put in them like 'sugar' and 'condensed milk approximate product'. We have Vartan malakh, tea, juices ... We have an onboard chef." Tasha slides her datapad away and shrugs with her hands. "We can accomidate many species?"
"Dairy products give me gas," Egypt says. "But I love real cheese. And ice cream. And fruit. Lots of fruit. Do I get my own cabin, or do I have to share? Feathers make me sneeze. I also like sneezing though. Oh, and there might be some criminals trying to kill me. Or.. that might have been someone else, I can't remember clearly."
Tasha manages to just resist heaving a sigh. She knew there had to be a catch somewhere, a big catch. Possibly several. "You'll recieve a small cabin. It's not spacious, but you'll have access to the lounge area. The rest of the ship is, of course, off-limits." She then looks around for a long moment. "I'd like to hear more about these criminals after you."
"There are criminals after me?" the bat squeaks in alarm. "They must be after my credits! Or my assets! Nobody has ever really been after my assets before. How many are there?"
At that, Tasha does sigh. If it's a spy act, she decides, it's a very trying one. It sounds a lot like something she'd use, and now she sees why it works so well. Assault people with enough crazy nonsense and they'll forgive any minor problems like assassins and criminality, if just to make the crazy stop. She takes mental notes. "Well, here it is: The departure time will be sent to your contact Miss ... Egypt, and you'll want to arrive a little ahead of time for loading. You're welcome to stop by the office and wait if anything interferes with the possibility of your departure. I think that's everything?"
"Will I have time to get some donuts?" Egypt asks.
"There are donuts at the front desk. Miss Necessity will get you some." Tasha inclines her head, then steps back towards the door. She reaches for the exit. "We'll see you soon then."
"Yes, yes, this is good," Egypt claims, and looks around her mess. "I think I have an extra brain in here somewhere.."
Tasha keeps her extra brain in her pocket, but she suspects they're not the same thing at all. And with that last bit of wisdom, she's out.
Once outside she checks around, then begins heading back. She'll feel safer about discussing further details back at the office. While no stranger to bad neighborhoods, she's definitely a stranger to the Galactic version. It actually makes ehr glad Samael is lurking around ... somewhere.
"She seemed entertaining," Sam says right behind Tasha. "You shouldn't look so furtive, it attracts predators. Where are we going next?"
"Most of the predators I could see coming before. Technology is hard to get used to." Tasha aims for the lift down, having no further business in this grim district. "I was going to head back to the office, though I guess I could do something fun. I should grab Katie and Hake-bear and maybe see about ... I don't know. My hair? A new outfit would be nice, I mean there are so many out here. Drinks, maybe?"
"They don't have a gladiatorial fighting pit?" Samael asks. "And what about your hair? Is it edible?"
"Probably for you yes, but me, I just want it styled. This man mentioned having it lengthened last time we were here, and Katie and I saw some interesting outfits in the stores we couldn't afford before. Gadgets, too. There's also weapons ... I bet Katie loves weapons. She always asks if we can beat people up." Tasha steps on the lift, not overwhelmingly worried if she appears to be talking to herself. If someone like Egypt can get away with it, it must be yet another strange thing to deal with. That was certainly the case back home in Underside. "But, you know, fun things. Not work things. Oh, there's shopping for Nora, too. We only have a few days until we leave."
"This should be educational," Samael notes. "What about the naive girl, Lacci? Would you prefer I followed the rabbit?"
"Oh, I guess we could bring Lacci. I'm never really sure if she wants to be around me. She's so flighty." Tasha watches the station zoom past, still amazed at the strange sights and sounds of the abandoned Sifran relic turned outpost. She definitely can't say she's become used to the place; it still feels as strange and alien as when she came here as a faux-Titanian what feels like years ago. "You mean Aaron? Sure, he's educational. He'll probably wnat to look around for himself. He's been quiet lately, which makes me think he's being pensive. Galactic life is a lot to take in, you know? It ca really make you feel small."
"He is rather short," Samael agrees. The tram stops at the hub, where the Branch Library and various Galactic embassies cluster.
"I guess I could swing by the Seeders, but Mr. I. is handling that for me these days. Uh. There's the embassies ... I've never been inside any of them, they're a bit intimidating when I don't actually have a reason to go inside. Like, if I don't have some great pupose and it's just me, it's more inimidating." And so Tasha walks on. She cocks her head to the side as if she were engaging in some remote dialogue through electronic means as she's seen people do, all to draw attention away from the assumption she's talking to someone and thus revealing Samael. "And there's the Library. I've only been ... Um, actually I've never been, but I guess I should become familiar with it? Say hi, look some things up. I mean, it's this great resource, but I can't exactly search for anything too obvious."
"What would you look up?" Samael asks, looking around. "There were more desperate people in the other spire. These don't seem like they'd want to trade their souls for anything."
"You and your soul addiction. What do you even do with those, and how does that even work?" Tasha sidesteps in to backstreet, shofting to lean against a wall and peer across from her at Samael, looking like she's having some heated discussion with someone down the line. "You know what? This I want to know. What do you do with those, why does Mr. H and Mr. N want them, why do the Big Os want them? Is it quantum state control? Any why all the rules?"
"Hmm, it is difficult to describe in a way that is relevant to your mode of existence," Samael says. "Well... you eat meat. So.. it's like that. But the meat is alive, and you get to taste all of its experiences and dreams and fear. Especially the fear and horror. It's the most horrific thing you can do to someone and.. it tastes really good. But it's not actually like that."
"That's really horrible," Tasha points out, reaching out to actually stab Samael with a finger. "You're an entire species of, what's the word ... Nora ... sadists. And you need do do this? Or is it just something you do for fun?"
"We live at the bottom of an infinitely deep, dark well," Samael points out. "In that situation, wouldn't you do anything for a bit of light and warmth?"
"That sounds less like light and warmth and more like ... Like becoming the well. Turning the deep darkness in to something you enjoy. You're not escaping the well, you're becoming part of it. It's different if you need to do it to survive, but that's not the case is it?" The young woman perks her ears, brows raising. "It's like old Blackwings. The world treated her bad, so she treated it bad. I get that, I'd have done it, too. I know how enjoyable it can be to hurt someone, really hurt them in whatever way gets to them. Physical pain, mental pain. You can break their spirit. But in the end that's all it is, it's not light and warmth. It's making the darkness seem light a light. It's like Carcosa. You've turned the light in to darkness, inverted all the colors."
"When you eat, you turn your food into more of you, so.. yes, we turn it into darkness," Samael says. "Because that's what we are."
"But there are perks to serving us," the demon offers.
"So you munch them up and they become demons?" Tasha leans in, squinting a little. "Is that where you came from? Were you somebody, once? Before something ate you?" And so she squints a little more. "What perks could be worth that? Not that I think there aren't people who are weak, or desperate enough to make the decision, I'm not judging them."
Sam puts a hand on Tasha's shoulder and smiles to her. "The best perk of all: to be eaten last," the demon says. "And I was not a living being before. Just as things you eat are dead, things we eat are.. extra dead."
"I guess that's some consolation, but not much of one." Tasha leans back, frowning. "Well, I'd rather kill the beast and do the eating. If you can turn things to darkness, there must be something that can do the opposite. There must be something that counters you."
"We can be eaten by bigger outer beings," Sam admits. "And other things."
"Especially those of us created into this reality, like the Ogdru-hem and Servitors," he adds.
"What other things?" Tasha prompts. She then reaches over and puts her hand on Samael's shoulder. "Come on, you can tell me. Hanging out with me got you your kind-of-sort-of freedom."
"I'm not entirely sure," Samael claims. "Dark anti-matter, probably. Black holes. High enough levels of energy.. or being run through with a special spaceship. But you can't use the Horse to do me in, since you need me to activate that function."
"Unless I find a way to eat you?" Tasha prompts, ears perking and brows going up. She smiles. "I mena it's all in there somewhere, right?"
"Here," Sam says, and offers up his hand. "Have a bite."
As it happens, entering in to a pissing contest with a millions year old demonwasn't exactly how Tasha expected her evening to go, but like so many strange and decidedly dangerous situations it just sort of happened. And like all pissing contests, especially those over fundamentals and dominance, it's rather hard for her to back out of. Having lived in a bad area where she had to throw her weight around just for a little respect, the contest between her and Samael has that old air. That backing down would show weakness, and weakness can be exploited -- and if she's learned anything about demons it's that exploiting weakness is one of their very dearest pleasures. It leaves the young woman with a very -- and literally -- unpalitable choice to make. Take the dare, or balk. That it's some sort of cosmic-level dare makes it that much worse.
Why did I ever show mercy to these things, why was I so insistent on liking them? It's a complex question, and she doesn't have time for it. She eyes the demon's hand and steels herself; she doesn't think he thinks she'll do it. Well, she's bit people before ... What's one more? Samael gets a smile full of bravado, then gets chomped. The regret is there even before she does it, but it can be no other way.
It's like biting into frozen.. well, crap. It's the foulest thing she can imagine (and maybe because of her imagination) and she actually bites through the limb. The chunk of darkness squirms in her mouth, acting like a live spider.
Tasha recoils, actually taking a step back, beginning to hack and cough in an attempt to dislodge the ball of utter nastiness that is somehow an incarnate form of metaphysical darkness. The processed, living form of rendered down souls reborn as this. And it's in her mouth. Her eyes water; her legs threaten to give way.
And then the foulness is gone, as if it was never there. "You don't want actual demon essence in you," Samael notes. "It can be used to control you. It's usually done as part of a dark ritual."
Tasha simply nods, still too busy gagging to actually say anything. Part of her is proud she didn't back down and can still face the universe's horrors head on, the other part things she's very, very stupid. Such seems to be the way of her life, why she has spacecraft and money when otherwise she'd have very little indeed. The rest was in that speech. Once she finally manages to not want to throw up, she wipes her muzzle with the back of her hand and stares at Samael with watery eyes. "Then why did you stop it?" She wheezes.
"There are rules," Samael says. "A contract was not made, nor the proper rites observed. Even we of Chaos have rules and patterns that must be obeyed. This is the price of operating in your reality."
"I need ... those rules ... " Tasha sucks in a deep breath, closes her eyes, and very deliberately straightens until she's standing steady, then opens her eyes again. She exhales. "I need those rules. And a drink. Ugh."
"You don't need to make contracts with creatures like me," Samael insists. "But yes, alcohol may be your friend at this moment."
"Not contracts, I just want to know how to avoid them. How to use them to stay outside." Tasha peers out in to the throughfair, wondering if anyone saw her bizarre little show. She can only hope they think she went up to that bad district to consume something foul, and it didn't agree with her. "Come on ... I know where there's a bar. If we're lucky the Titanians will show up."
"Should I let people see me then?" Samael asks as he follows. Like most frontier outposts, people seem very involved in minding their own business. "And if so, what should I look like?"
"Just try to blend in. Pick a Karnor, Vartan, or Khattan form. Try to dress less nicely than me, it'll make people think you're my employee. Two wealthy-seeming people alone in a Terran tavern will seem like some sort of obvious deal meeting or something." Tasha is guessing, of course, but it's educated guessing. "I'll just go as I am. I've been on this station enough that anyone who is tracking me knows I'm associated with Terra Primest philosophy and factions."
"How about this then?" Samael asks, in Hakeber's voice. And her body, which is definitely a bit more dressed-down than Tasha.
Tasha blinks down at this demonic form of Hakeber. At least, she's relieved to see, it's not a male Hakeber. She does rather wonder how Samale got the body, though, but quickly recalls has can copy someone just by touching them. She tries not to think about how adventerous Hakeber might be, considering her reaction to Samael's male version of herself.
Great, now she has that memory to deal with, too!
"It's fine, lets go, I really want that drink," Tasha insists. She grab's Hake-not-bear and pulls her along.
Once inside the Surf-n-Turf, Tasha sees Katie waving at her from a table. The other girls are with her: Miss Necessity, Liza, Lacci, Yue and Hakeber. It's then that Samael vanishes, rather than cause confusion.
Tasha decides 'relieved' is the right thing to feel now, even if her Hakeber clone just vanished in what she hopes wasn't infront of a lot of people. As she walks over and tries to smile in a way that doesn't look like she's trying to smile, she wonders at all the people here and what they'd think if they knew a real live demon was following along behind her. She knows Bumper would have words about that.
"Hi, having a get together? Why didn't you call me?" The hybrid asks as she approaches the table.
"We were about to," Katie says. "We've been invited to a fancy dress party. So.. are you ready for makeovers?" She really grins when she says it.
"I am ready for anything so long as it's fun and has alcohol," Tasha admits, then she flumps down in to a chair as if all the energy had been drained right out of her.