trans_9 | Sneaking [Open]

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Sneaking [Open]

Atton has found himself wandering the ship, trying to figure out where he was and what this place is. All he knows is that there were other people, he has his blaster and some of his equipment back, and now he's going to find some answers. As of right now, he's moving along one of the corridors very quietly and actually pretty damn stealthily. He moves like he knows how to hide and every few steps he pauses to listen. His blaster is hefted in one hand and as he ease up to a corner to peek around it, the barrel of his gun isn't very far behind.

Someone is going to explain this to him. Hopefully.

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John is on his way to the mess hall, just returned from a routine check of the city. Atton will see the retreating back of a large, well-muscled man in a pod suit heading down the hall. He's clearly armed, with some breed of rifle across his back and a handgun at his hip. The Chief's still adjusting to being without his armor, part of this is his currently lacking a motion tracker. He hasn't noticed Atton.

Atton mutters a small curse to himself. Great. Heavily armed, large men. Just what he needed. Still, maybe this was a friendly, heavily armed, large man. He eased around the corner, keeping the barrel of his blaster pointed down and away, "Hey... big guy, uh... where are we?"

If this was a Mandalorian, he was going to go out shooting.

The Chief turns. He doesn't recognize this guy, so that means he's probably new. And he has a weapon, though he's seen so many strange variants on a hand gun here he's making no assumptions about it.

"More lost than you've ever been in your entire life, to make a long story short. Gonna take a guess and say you just woke up?"

"...something like that. More like one minute I was walking along the street in Nar Shadda, next thing I know I'm coughing up slime. Average day, true story."

Atton shrugs. So far, no hostility. That was good. Right?

The Chief nods.

"Well, welcome aboard. I'm Spartan 117, call me "Chief" and we'll have no problems," he says. "Stacy probably gave you the standard unhelpful greeting. Nobody knows how we got here or what we're going to do to get out, but we're working on it. You've got plenty of questions, right?"

"Loads of questions. Like how in the galaxy I got here, why I'm here, and how the Hell do I get back to where I belong."

He slides his blaster back into his holster with a sigh, "Yippee."

"As near as we can tell, Stacy somehow got ahold of us. We're all from different dimensions, don't ask me how that works because I don't know. The ship says we've been chosen for something. As for getting back, that's what we're trying to figure out. I've been here a while already."

He sighs, looking up the hall briefly then back at Atton. "I'm on my way to mess, just got back from a patrol. If you follow me I can show you around a bit, odds are the Captain'll be calling another meeting once she hears more newbies are awake."

"Different... dimensions? Riiiight. Next thing you're gonna tell me that I'm a Jedi." Atton waves his hand dismissively, "Then again, something like this has never happened to me before, so it's not entirely out of the question."

He paused, and then shrugged, "Eh, sure. Why not. I have no reason not to follow the overgrown Mandalorian..."

The word "Jedi" has no meaning to John, so he lets it go. "It's crazy, but it's all we have to go on," he says.

Chief continues walking. "Mandalorian?" he asks. This is slightly more relevant. It doesn't sound quite like an insult. If it did he would've ignored it.

"Well, that's just great...." Atton sighs and falls in next to Chief, "Yeah, Mandalorians. Warrior types. Invaded the galaxy, burned half of it, caused a big war?"

"Not on my side of the fence," the Chief says with a small shrug. "Other dimensions. We had a coalition of religious zealots try to wipe out all sentient life once, though. We'd just settled that when I woke up here."

Well, more or less.

"As far as what I am, I'm a Spartan II. Soldier for the United Nations Space Commission. Anybody tries to burn half my galaxy they're gonna have to do it over my cold dead body."

"Well, that sounds more or less like what's happening right now, except we liked our religious zealots before they turned on us," Atton sounds just a bit bitter there. Personal experience? Naaaaah.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. Because... well... uh... Mandalorians aren't fun. Yeah."

"Yeah, I got that from the description." He finds this interesting because if he can be mistaken for a Mandalorian it means that whoever they are, they're human. And, he supposes, quite probably big and often scarred.

"This is it," he says as they arrive in the mess hall. "Food's not great but it keeps you alive."

"Well, the Mandalorians weren't the religious zealots. That's the Jedi. And they're actually fighting another group of religious zealots called the Sith. They started fighting after we beat the Mandalorians. And I guess they were fighting before that, too."

He trots into the mess hall and retrieves the helpfully dispensed tray. Atton takes one look at the slop and sets the tray down, "You know? I'm suddenly not that hungry..."

"How many groups of religious zealots do you have?" he asks after getting a tray and having a seat.

"You will be eventually. It's not too bad, you get used to it. Hasn't killed any of us." The Spartan shrugs. "I'll be a few minutes. If you don't want to wait up on me the Obs Deck's out that hall." He nods to another entrance. "Odds are you'll run into other crew if you go there, just tell 'em you're new."

"Two major ones. Well, two that can actually make the galaxy burn, anyway," Atton slides into a seat across from John, leaning on the table, "There's the Sith and the Jedi. Well, the Sith are actually pretty honest about what they do and what they want. They want power. They want to rule the galaxy. They believe in using their emotions. Stuff like that."

He paused reflectively, "Now, the Jedi are their opposite. They believe in 'peace'. In clarity of thought, of stilling emotions, being detached. And they claim to do good, to spread justice through the galaxy. But really? They're just as bad. Every act of 'good', every act of 'kindness' can be exposed for what it really is..."

There's a bit of bitterness in his voice, but he hides it fairly well. He shrugs and leans back, flipping out a deck of cards, "But that's politics for you. Me? I just duck my head and try to get by. Pazaak?"

The Chief listens to Atton talk as he wolfs down the slop. He's figured out it's best to down it quickly and without stopping. He holds up a hand for a moment, and then it's all gone.

"Ours were about five or so different alien species that tripped over ancient technology, started worshiping it, let loose a super parasite, and then nearly wiped out everything alive worth mentioning. By accident. There's not enough of humanity left for us to rip ourselves apart." Yet, anyway. Chief was created as a preventative measure.

He breaks off a corner of the tray. "Pazaak?" he asks before taking a bite of it.

"Pazaak. It's a card game," Atton spreads his cards out, "It's pretty simple, really. The objective is to hit twenty-one. Players take it in turns to draw a number and then they can play cards from their hands which modify the number they currently have. Easy, right?"

He eyes Chief for a moment.

He swallows.

"Sure. Why not?" He's never seen this game before, and he likes games. He's always been good at them. Atton may have found himself a challenge.

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