Cloak and Dagger

"I feel like I'm about to get promoted after I ace this mission, gyeck," Yoshi whispers. He adjusts his hood a little and scans the area again.

"No sign yet." He takes in his surroundings. "How about you, you good?"

Dirt fights the urge to hoot and holler when the referee lifts Zrain's hand, but he stands at attention like a dutiful soldier. He's proud of his friend though. He'd done it. They'd fly together. Everything was falling into place.

When Dirt's eyes fall on cool, sleek Redtail raptor, a cold shiver runs down his spine. So close. He stands a little taller as he punches the words, "Yes, sir." Adrenaline surges through his veins and his heart hammers in his chest, but he knows he'll be calm the second he straps into that chair. He can't explain the feeling exactly, but it's like falling into another state of being entirely. His mind and body open and free to go with, what he's always referred to as, The Flow.

Dirt gives his sergeant a, "Hootrah!" then snaps a crisp salute.

With Twintail's dismissal, Dirt nearly tackles Zrain to the ground and shakes the crap out of him. "Yea, buddy!" He lowers his voice, just for Zrain. "Hooty hoo, mother fucker." He claps his friend on the back and shakes him a little more. He couldn't be prouder.

Yoshi too flips into no nonsense mode.

"If Bowser said there'd be three, we should assume there are three." He scans the crowd, wondering at what kind of muscle a noble like Sable flexes. "Could be one of them has an ability like yours or mine."Once he clocks the guards he makes up his mind. "Let's play to our strengths."

Dirt lets his nerves choke him. He can feel his heart in his chest and there's a sickly churning feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he knows, when he sits in that chair, all will be well. He will find the Flow.

He breathes in deep, eyes on the prize. He makes his way down the aisle of raptors, Zrain at his side. No fancy footwork. No showboating. It's time to work. They're men on a mission, their purpose clear, intent aligned.

Dirt climbs the ladder and the icy steel of the railing bites into his palms. He basks in the feeling. It's one sensation you don't get from the simulator.

He slaps the Fleet insignia on the side of ship for luck, then ducks inside as the hatch opens. He takes a moment to marvel at his throne, the way in which he will rule over the stars, king of the empty depths. He smiles broadly.

He lowers himself into the cockpit as one would into a steamy bath and melts into the chair, fusing them into one form. He thumbs the ignition and the Redtail springs to life. The engine and his heart purr in perfect unison.

Zrain straps himself in, his chair perpendicular to Dirt's own only slotted in behind him. Zrain toggles a half dozen switches and their defense systems come online. A dozen or so other green ship icons clustered on top of their own central dot. Consecutive rings fan out around the radar display, the nearest civilian vessel appearing on the outermost ring, far on the other side of the station.

Without a word, Dirt reached a fist back behind his head and Zrain pounded it.

Dirt opens the general comms channel and says, "Cadet Eight, requesting permission to disembark from Cybele Station." He checks the runway number painted on the decking head of him. "I see one-four," he says, then checks his gauges. "Heading two nine two. Set." He twists a nob until it reads 292, then presses it in to lock it in place. A voice over the radio repeats his runway number and heading back to him.

"Power set, elevator free," he says, flipping another switch. There's a slight rumble as the support arm releases and the ship steadies itself in the air just above the deck. The only thing holding it in place now is the launch arm. "Lock clear, breaks released." He pulls the joystick back between his legs until it locks into place. "Pilot ready for launch," he says.

Zrain echoes his call, "ECO ready for launch."

The radio voice confirms, "Cadet Eight, you are a Go for sublight launch."

"Confirmed. Go for sublight launch in three," Dirt says, flipping up a glass case surrounding a flashing green button. "Two," he says, leaning his helmet back against the headrest. "One." He hammers the button and is jerked back into his seat as they speed through the launch tunnel and are spit out into the inky blackness of space, a javelin of pure white light against the endless sea of utter darkness. It was the most stunningly beautiful sight Dirt had ever seen.

He only spends a moment marveling though. They had work to do. He takes hold of the joystick and races off towards the Emperor's Channel. He switches from general comms to the local channel and calls back to Zrain, "Status report."

"Target in sights," he whispers to Mellie. "The guards look tough, but you know what they say: the bigger they are, the more ass they have to kick." He notes their footwraps and general style. "Real talk, these dudes look like they'd be fun to fight."

He peers out from behind the pillar to check out the hostess. "She looks like Dirt's type. That is, assuming she's already got a boyfriend..."

Once the host stand is clear he wonders at his options. Through the front or through the back? Front is quicker but carries way more risks. Better leave that to Mellie. On the other hand, it looks like he's got a fellow moss enthusiast in the alleyway.

"Gonna try something stupid," he says to Mellie, before heading into the alleyway.

"Psst, hey bro, you like your job?" He asks the line cook/dishwasher. "Don't panic, it's all good. Look, I've been thinking about a change of careers. How you feel about taking the rest of the day off and I'll cover for you? All I need is your clothes. And in exchange you can put down that trash you're smoking on and take some of this galaxy creeper." He pulls out a bag of purple haired moss and dangles it in front of the line cook/dishwasher. "What do you say?"

"Roger that," Dirt replies. "Easy does her."

He reviews Zrain’s plan and calls back, "This is perfect, Zrain. Good work." He settles in to execute the bypass maneuver. "The Crown is a trap, my friend," he says. "I’m glad you caught it. I’m convinced they built it that way to separate the pilots from the adrenaline junkies and the fools." He shakes his head, thinking of Kwiark.

"The Peregrine Fliers aren’t looking for showboaters. They need reliable, professional aviators," he says, emphasizing the words. "We make this clean. No surprises. Let’s do this the right way," he says. "On my mark—" He opens his mouth to continue, then blinks wide eyes at the burning trail of fire swirling around his cockpit. She’s back. He smiles broadly.

In the background, Dirt can hear Zrain on the radio trying to confirm his call, but his mind focuses on one particular thing the flame had said. I want you to have it, it had said. His new friend had wants and desires, and likely dreams just like humans. He thought about that. "And I want to know your name," he blurted out, not knowing where he was going with that. "How about a trade?" he said and then something came over him, some side of him that wanted to make her happy, to hear her laughing as he raced across the finish line, to forge their connection even stronger, and Dirt veers the joystick hard and the universe spins on its axis through the windshield.

Dirt fights to keep conscious as the cockpit shakes violently and the forces of the turn press him back into his seat. He forces the throttle forward and accelerates into a barnburner turn at an insane angle to be entering the Fiery Crown. If he’d planned to make the pass in the first place, he’d have lined up on the opposite side of the ring and swung wide before making his approach, but instead, he was forced to hug the inside of the ring on a flat, hard spiral in order to have any chance at making the turn. Missing it though, meant potentially accelerating straight into the ring itself and exploding into a fiery crown-shaped ball. There was no ejecting from this crash, he thought, but dismissed it immediately. He ground down on his beak. He'd show them. He'd show them all that he belongs here. He would will it into being if he had to. Because he was Dirt freaking Ziawk, baby! Luck of the gods. Luck of the gods. Luck of the gods.

Dirt flips the ship, fires all cylinders, and attempts to thread the Fiery Crown.

Dirt gasps for air, breathing for the first time in seemingly hours. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath through the whole gut-wrenching turn. He takes in sharp, heavy breaths to slow his breathing and his adrenaline is still through the roof, but he can feel his heartbeat starting to slow. And then the voice returned.

Dirt chirps his frustration and grinds the corners of his beak. Painted on the giant's bones? Why can't she just tell him herself? He wants to grab something in the cockpit and throttle it, but everything around him is highly sensitive aerospace equipment. He leans back into his chair and pounds his head against the headrest, hoping to bang some sense into it. Damn the almighty, he was losing his freaking mind. What the hell was he doing listening to this... who knows what!

Dirt grabs control of the joystick. Screw the name. If she wants him to know it, she'll just have to use her freaking words. No more deviations. No more detours. They. Had. Work. To. Do.

He hesitates, his grip tightening on the joystick. Then cringes. "Hey buddy," he says to the disoriented Zrain. "Super sorry about all that." He lets the words hang in the air for a moment, then adds, "And this too... Sorry in advance! No time to explain." He rips the stick and rides out into the stars.

Dirt's Redtail barrel rolls out of the emperor's channel and continues to fly inverted all the way around the ring, his eyes peeled up through the windshield at the other side, scanning for any sign of bones or lettering, anything out of the ordinary. "If you've got any way to record this, Zrain, do it!" he says as they burn through the roll. He knows the ship doesn't have that capability, but Zrain wants to be a space archeologist, right? Well here's his chance to take his first picture of ancient alien technology hard at work. "Twelve o'clock, Y axis," he says. "Right above us."

"Bruh," Yoshi says, taking in the massive stack of dishes. "Yeah I'm in," he whispers to Mellie. "Back of house. Gonna go bus some dishes..."

He looks around and finds a bus tub, then scoops it up and heads for the doors to the dining area, while whistling a happy little tune.

Holy Phoenix, Child Eternal. The words burn into his vision. What did that even mean though? The voice... Could it actually be her? He blinks the words from his mind and tries to focus on the radar display. The icons seem brighter, more vibrant somehow. He squints again and focuses his eyes, but the slight ruby tent to his vision persists. What the hell is happening to me? He can't make sense of it. It's like there's a lit candle burning between his ears and shining on the back of his eyes.

"Roger-- Roger that," Dirt manages to stammer out. "I, uh--" He hates that there is actually no time to explain. He has so many questions to ask Zrain. Had his friend seen the wreckage? Had he understood the power of the words the same as Dirt had? He doubted it, but he can't wait to tell his friend all about it and get his opinions, and... But he can't think about that now. He has to focus. "Let's do this thang, baby," he says, although his swagger felt a little forced.

Dirt takes a deep breath and steadies his nerves, then pulls back on the joystick and thumbs the overburn, rocketing them towards the large asteroid. Normally, he'd love a good bob and weave through an asteroid field, but he's just not feeling anymore surprises today. He wants a clean cut, by-the-books strafing killshot.

He cuts the overburn and floats his ship into the asteroid's orbit, keeping a safe distance from the rock as he swings around it with his sights zeroed in on the horizon.

"Switching to guns," he says, thumbing the nob on the top of the joystick from "S2S" (Ship-to-ship Missiles) to "KARs" (two Kinetic Aero-Rifles mounted to the nose of his ship). He wraps his talon around the trigger and waits for the drone to come into his sights.

Yoshi does his best to mask his eavesdropping, adopting his best apathetic, annoyed-to-be-working face, as he fills his bus tub until it's nearly too heavy to carry.

"So they are dealing with Ruby Dawn. This is juicy stuff," he whispers to Mellie. "Where are you exactly? Are you close by them? You didn't happen to bring a recorder with you did you? It'd be great if we could bug them."

He quickly spins around, ready to make his way back to the kitchen, just as some ritzy bastard stands up and shoots their chair out, with a total disregard for the safety of the wait staff. Perhaps it's Yoshi's shinobi training, or perhaps it's his psionic abilities, but the sliding chair is absolutely no match for his quick reflexes. Not only does he avoid being struck by the chair, he extends his foot to prevent the chair from getting in his way and, without looking, gently kicks it so that it slides perfectly back into its place at the table. He can feel his aura swell. He narrows his eyes at the inconsiderate patron and continues back to the kitchen.

Once he arrives, he spots the sous chef. "Oooh this guy looks pissed. He better not give me any shit because I really don't want to hear any nonsense today."

He walks over to the furious fellow. "Sup, boss?"