overjoyed_logs | [closed] with my old friends, I can remember when

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[closed] with my old friends, I can remember when

Who: Steph & Jason
Where: Westerley
When: Technically pre-game
Summary: A pair of Bats walk into a bar...
Restrictions/Warnings: none yet

[Half an hour out from Westerley, the AI flashes a warning only seconds before Steph's ship is rocked by a blast from god knows where, knocking out the engine, taking the power with it. She's the only one on board, armed with a single pistol that she pulls out as she heads towards the airlock, knowing her ship is about to boarded, because that's what happens to relatively unguarded supply ships. She can't stop the boarding, but as soon as the interior airlock opens, Steph fires.

_

Four hours later she's sitting in a chair at the docking station, waiting for the Killjoy who's taking the warrant, but all she really wants to do is get back home where she can sleep. It's Company property, though, even if nothing was taken, so the Company gets to decide how to handle the situation, and that meant putting out a warrant.

All the official paperwork is filled out, but she kept the pen they gave it, flicking it around her fingers as she waits. Hopefully this doesn't take too long.]

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[On the upside, the warrant gets accepted nearly as soon as it clears the bureaucrats and hits the brokers. Jason's been peripherally aware of this particular operation for a while. Over the past few months they've been hitting passenger transports, small cargo ships, a few private vessels. Small-time, so they've been flying under the radar of being enough of a problem for the authorities to put much effort into stopping them. But now they've either made the mistake or finally mustered the brass to hit a company ship and pissed off someone who can afford to authorize a warrant. Company jobs don't usually interest him, much. But when this one crosses his radar, he picks it up.

Being a killjoy in the middle of Company territory is a little like being a fox in a particularly belligerent henhouse. He can feel critical glances from the masses and unhappy Enforcer eyes on his back while he wanders around the dock to the corner where his new best friend is supposed to be waiting. She looks just like her personnel file tells him she will—younger than you'd usually expect for a solo pilot. With the added bonus of looking a whole lot like she'd rather be anywhere but here. He shoulders his way through the foot traffic and ignores the the dirty looks it gets him to slide into the seat across from her.]

Hi. [Helpful. At least there's no mistaking who he's likely to be. In the midst of the enforcers and the company joes, a killjoy sticks out like a heavily armed sore thumb. Rather than introduce himself—]

Stephanie Brown, am I right? Heard you gave some hijackers hell today.

[Why don't you tell him all about it.]

[There are things that cross Steph's pass with a sense of familiarity; the smell of coffee, the way it feels when her fist hits a punching bag, the sound of the rain on her window. She clings to them when they come, not wanting to let go of anything that makes her feel as if she has a chance of remembering.

When she sees Jason, it isn't so much an echo of familiarity as it is a slap in the face, a warning siren that sits heavily in her chest as she frowns at him, trying to place the sensation. Killjoys are, by nature, dangerous, but that doesn't explain the unease she's feeling. Steph wants to examine it, pull it apart piece by piece until she finds out where it came from, but as long as she works for the Company, business has to come first.

She shoves the feeling down.]

That's me. I don't think they expected someone who knew how to shoot, I managed to give them enough trouble they decided it wasn't worth it. [Despite the unease, it feels almost natural to smirk when she adds:] I'm a good shot.

[There's blood in the airlock, but that won't be much help unless the owners are on file.]

[There's a hitch in the conversation, an odd off-beat where she stares a little too long, sits a little too stiff. The blink and you'll miss it kind of thing that would have flown under the radar of a less obsessively observant kind of guy. And he ought to write it off as unimportant—the understandable kind of nerves that might come from talking to a killjoy about a brush with much more immediate danger before the adrenaline even gets a chance to filter out. But she doesn't seem too shaken up about the matter, otherwise. Just the opposite, in fact. Before getting down to business—]

I can see that. Maybe you ought to look into a little change in occupation.

[Not the best thing to say in the middle of her workplace, but he's joking. (Probably.) Either way gave them hell isn't at all exaggerating, in this case. Takes a lot of nerve to chase off a bunch of armed hijackers all by yourself. Well, good for her. The blood won't get them an ID, but it sure does get her some just desserts while he works on the rest.]

[The look she gives him is a cross between uncertainty and a subdued are you kidding? because they're in the middle of a Company dock and the last thing she's going to do is talk shit about her employers, regardless of her own personal feelings.

When she responds, her tone is a little tight, more from concern than anything like anger.]

It's not really the workplace that's the problem.

[Doing this is all she knows, literally.]

[Sorry, not sorry, Steph. Killjoys are expected, if not allowed, a pretty loose attitude toward the company. And pushing for reactions is just in his nature. If he looks amused by her aggrieved reaction, it's neither here nor there. But when she follows that up with an ambiguous kind of answer—]

I didn't know the Company taught its pilots to shoot.

[—he can't resist leading, a little. The problem isn't his problem. He's here to get the skinny on the attempted hijacking so he can track down the dirtbags responsible. But it would be a lie to say he's not interested to know how one pilot girl managed to fight them off on her own.]

I don't see how that's relevant.

[Usually she's a little more helpful, especially in situations where she's the one who is, technically being helped (although she couldn't give a shit whether or not the hijackers actually get caught). But her hackles are up, and Jason isn't Company, so she doesn't need to mindlessly answer his questions.]

I'm a lateral problem solver.

[Other things he is: nosy. And getting cagey over that matter only encourages him. Get to know your witness, etc. He doesn't actually think it's suspicious for his purposes—if she was in cahoots with the crooks he's chasing she didn't stand much to gain by chasing them off. But is it coincidence that the first company ship they hit just happens to be piloted by someone who knows their way around a hijacking? Maybe, maybe not.]

If you want, I can do the by-the-book q&a, but that's pretty boring for both of us.

[Mostly she'd just like this over and done with so she can get away from a situation that has the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Being difficul isn't going to help her.]

Basic combat training is optional, but my dad was an Enforcer. He encouraged me to take the courses.

[The 'combat training' part is true, the part about her father being an Enforcer is true, but she has no idea about the rest of it. At least it sounds plausible.]

The airlock is a choke point.

[All she had to do was keep enough cover and hold them off.]

[He raises his brows a little while she fills in the blanks, but doesn't decide to press the perfectly-reasonable excuse. Time is something of a factor, if not in particularly dire-straits-amounts.]

Well, extra credit for this one. You clipped one of these desperados bad enough that his compadres will have bolted for a clinic or risk letting him bleed out. So lets cross our fingers for a little honor among thieves.

[If he sounds a little disdainful of the subject, it's because he is. Honor among anyone is a hard sell around here. Still, a dead man makes a lousy partner in crime, so it's a more likely lead than it sounds. Much obliged.]

Unfortunately for both of us, your bosses don't feel like working with me any more than they've got to. Give me a few more minutes of your time and I can get out of your hair.

[And get to heading off to get his hands dirty. Like most of the conversation, it's offhand and informal, leaning against the table while he talks. But the rest is some parts sharp and some parts pointed, though the larger irony of the topic is lost on him.]

And if you remember anything—[or, say, if there's something she wants to say that she doesn't want to say in Company territory. Or hell, if someone decides they'd rather come around and try get even on the way out of the medic while he's on the trail. He scratches out a number on the corner of the shipping manifesto he'd been handed upon walking in and leaves it on the table for her.]—I'll be interested in hearing it. Deal?

[She's frustrated and on edge and at the end of the day she doesn't really care all that much about a failed hijacking, not when it's Company property that's probably ensured. Even if they had succeeded, it wouldn't have been a huge deal.

But she realizes that it's better if these people get caught, before the potentially hurt someone, so when Jason offers his number she takes it.]

They probably gave you the incident report, and I described what I could see of the hijackers in there, but if you give me half an hour I can send you sketches.

[Not much use to the Company, but Jason might recognize them if he's familiar with any of the crooks from previous warrants, or maybe he has info-brokers he can hit up.]

[The Company's the only reason this has managed to hit the brokers in the first place, but that doesn't mean they've been the only targets. Just the ones who could afford it. In a way, it's a stroke of luck for him to finally get the green light to pursue it and a huge misstep for them to make enough waves with the wrong people.

One of the many ways in which the system is broken. He sees it over and over again, the longer he's in the business. (Not that it's his job to care, right? That's a joke with no punchline.)

He cracks a grin and leans back, spreading his hands in front of him. 'Atta girl. Perfect.]

You read my mind. Aim for anything distinguishing—that includes anywhere you managed to land a hit.

[Wounds (or scars, eventually) aren't always easy to hide.]

[I know how to do a police sketch comes to the front of her thoughts and she has to wonder where it even came from, deciding to blame it on exhaustion and stress.]

I'll keep that in mind. I didn't get a look at their ship, but I can send over whatever scans the AI did.

[She needs access to the ship again first, because she left her comms on board.]

[He watches her, weighs the wisdom of saying more for a second or so, and then figures the hell with it.]

Anything you can corroborate with.

[Because he's been following this particular thread for a while, not because the Company has been at all cooperative about giving him access to what she's got logged on her vessel.]

I've got an idea on the make and model, but it's been tricky to pin down. It would be nice to narrow my options before they decide to get frisky again.

[Ah, he has suspicions about who was responsible, then, which should make the whole process go quicker. She's not particularly concerned for her own stake in this, but it'll be good to have those assholes out of "business" before they actually hurt someone.]

She should be able to confirm that, my AI. They didn't seem sophisticated enough to have any cloaking tech.

[Not if one little Company pilot could scare them off.]

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[closed] with my old friends, I can remember when

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