World Tree MUSH

    Here in the Darkened Boughs of the World Tree, there are places more dangerous to travellers. Frontier worlds, worlds infested by monsters, and those few worlds where horror, mysticism, and terrible things lurk under a veneer of the civilised.
    It's in one of these frontier worlds that finds a certain sky pirate, the Strahl's anchor dropped and wedged securely into the sandy soil. It's a desert, or near enough to one that it ought not matter. Feels a bit like home, reminiscent of the land-locked Kingdom of Dalmasca... except there are no vengeful queens, no empires vying for world domination, and no whiff of the arcane here.
    A message had been dispatched to one Rusalka Stojespal. Coordinates had been provided for her benefit. He hadn't said why he wanted to speak with her, but it had seemed important; by the time the missive had reached her, it had probably changed hands half a hundred times.
    Just in case there's any doubt, the sky pirates are sitting beside the anchor, toasting something before a campfire; Fran is perched up atop a boulder, keeping watch, while Balthier idly turns what smells like a marshmallow this way and that over the flames. It's hot and dry, but not uncomfortably so; there is a faded road not far from the campsite.
    Strangely, there's no airship here. It's just an anchor and half a cable, trailing up into the empty desert sky. Weird. Where's the Strahl?
    Invisible, of course. Balthier had commented that the thing could hide in plain sight, after all...

    "Have I ever said I missed sand? I'm pretty sure I have never said that I have missed sand."

    Down a properly sandy embankment a good quarter mile from a certain pirate encampment, a dusty-hooded, metal-faced Guardian huffs at his floating companion as he tries to dig out the front of his Sparrow from where it had buried itself nose-first into the landscape. He grumbles, pausing to shake out his arms and make sure no sand's taken up residence within the cuff of his gloves before resuming the task.

    "I could re-transmat it if that would help," his Ghost offers, to which the Exo snorts a brief laugh.

    "Naw, I got it, I got it," he reassures, scooping out another double-handful of sand before stepping back to jiggle the front of his speeder bike-esque transportation. "There we go. Looks loose enough." He dusts his hands off and then clambers back into the seat. "I'll gun 'er in reverse and then push forward as we angle up," he says, the engine of his Sparrow flaring as he powers it up again. 

    "Just remember to angle up," Sundance notes before slipping back into her Guardian.

    Cayde laughs. "Just rem'mer.... Hush. I got this."

    The engine whines thinly as he pulls back, the bike jerking out of the sand before he throttles it and yanks back on the handles as it veers forwards and up at full speed. Rocketing clear up over the slope.

    It's a good view provided of the camp. It might also be a good view of the Hunter Guardian in turn.

    Frankly she'd been a bit surprised. Balthier was, she'd been surprised to admit, one of the first people she'd thought of when her mother had said they needed allies. Why eluded her, annoyingly...but at least it wasn't hard to find him. The message she'd received made that job simple enough. Of course, that just left her scratching her head even further - what's he want with her now?

    Another try at being mysterious?

    Either way, she owes it to the sky pirate - preemptively or not - to meet. Specifically in the middle of a desert, but not the kind of place they'd last shared a race in. No roads, for starters.

    "Is he mocking me, out here?" The question gets ignored by the dashboard, the former army truck bobbing along the sand, suspension squeaking at each bump and dip. It's a lot different machine than Kometa, of course, but just as immaculately taken care of - even if it //is// getting rather covered in dust. The jeep-analogue doesn't answer back, of course.

    Nor does it have the decency to warn her of anything approaching when there's a sudden, strange whine - a racer's instincts and reflexes enable her to hammer the brake pedal in time as a flash of shadow goes overhead, disapparing in the dust cloud.

    "What the hell was-" Her head jabs out the window, staring back. Arcing upward is a hoverbike, but immediately she can tell it's not Balthier's. Too different in design, and of course only one rider instead of two. She's about to curse the lunatic dune-jumper out before deciding to check the vehicle...if he'd left skid marks or worse on her roof...oh.

    Well. There's Balthier and Fran, at least. Good. She can leave the truck where it is, navigating on foot to meet the two - she knows he's just a little bit wary of any kind of perceived threats. So, go alone, and don't be threatening, right? Simple enough, and she's even dressed nicely for once - the white leather jacket over what looks like a silk blouse, black slacks, and ankleboots; the everpresent scarf finding its way over her head for some sun protection.

    "Balthier." A small curtsey as she approaches, and dredges up a smile. It's not even all that fake! "You asked to see me?"

    What was that? It's a good question, one that has both sky pirates immediately snapping to full alertness, like a serpent uncoiling. No sooner has a shadow flickered overhead than the viera woman has her greatbow in hand, an arrow already fitted to the string and drawn back to her cheekbone.
    Balthier pulls himself to his feet more languidly, shrugging his rifle down from his shoulder and holding it loosely. He squints up to the figure of the careening Sparrow and its rider backlit by the sun, narrowing his eyes.
    And who might that be? More accurately, what might that be? The features look like the traditional armour of Archadian Judge-Magisters, but this is not one of the hunting-wolves of House Solidor. Very definitely not.
    "Fran, I do believe we have company."
    She doesn't answer, but his tone suggests he wasn't expecting her to. She's watching like a hawk. Balthier affects an air of nonchalance, shouldering his rifle even as Fran trains her bow on the stranger.
    The roar of an engine is the second thing to get his attention, and he looks over, in time to see Rusalka driving up in a truck. He touches two fingers to his temple in casual, irreverent salute. Ahoy, there, Princess.
    His attention is fixed on Cayde, though.
    "I did," he replies, with distracted good cheer. "I do not, however, recall asking you to bring any friends." He gestures to indicate Cayde's Sparrow, and his smile is hard-edged; not quite reaching hazel eyes. "Someone you know?"
    He stands, then, taking a step toward Cayde and his Sparrow. "Something I can help you find, stranger?" His tone of voice is friendly enough, except for the weapons pointed at him. Sky pirates are strange and suspicious creatures.
    This one looks human enough. He's wearing an immaculately crisp white silk shirt, which is surprisingly free of sand. Over that is a vest of embroidered gold-thread; black leggings somehow accentuating the ensemble. Through his left ear is a plain twist of silver; on his left hand are rings of either strange-looking plastic, or thin-cut stone in bright colours. His companion up on the boulder, however, is obviously not human. Dark of skin and stark white of hair, Fran's red-brown eyes never leave Cayde, something in the geometry of her face faintly inhuman. Her armour is black steel, artfully crafted, albeit made more for movement than for protection. Most notably, however, are her ears -- at the crown of her head, rather than the sides; the tall, piebald ears of a hare. They're turned straight forward, locked onto the intruder. She watches, although for the moment she doesn't threaten. Yet.

    What goes up must come down. Standard law of gravity. Also, Sparrows while capable of heights that wheeled vehicles may not boast, it does not necessarily mean that they can fly. Such is quite clear as the speeder bike begins to descend.

    "Craaaap--"

    Amanda Holliday always insists that he upgrade, but he's always been fond of the more classic model of bike. More rugged. Maybe not as streamlined and shiny as some of the fancy things they put out at the Tower nowadays. But at least he knows how to handle it, and more importantly, it can take a bit of a beating from say, some wild, not quite thought out stunts in less than optimal terrain. As the Sparrow descends, Cayde waits until about halfway to the ground before he gives the engines another boost to buffer the landing, a cloud of dust billowing up once he comes down with a bit of a bounce and pulls around to a stop.

    "Woohoo!! Did you see tha-- Oh er." He recalls then the glimpses of smoke, of a vehicle, that he'd caught while airborne. Clearing his throat- which seems more a gesture out of habit than any real need for the obviously metallic make-up of the figure in question, Cayde powers off his bike and swings his leg over it to disembark. 

    "Heya," he says, lifting a gloved hand in greeting towards the fancy-dressed man, glowing blue optics then tracing over towards the man's companion, metal brow lifting slightly. First thought: they come built in! But that comment might get him skewered even though he's not quite sure what the woman might be capable of, but it's just that sorta gut feeling. So he settles for a, "Heeeey." Lastly he turns to glance over towards the young woman who had come by way of truck, granting a two-fingered salute.

    So it's not armor that he wears- that's no helmet, but his face, a worn hood thrown over it. Most of his attire looks pretty worn out actually, quite the contrast to the pristine attire of the pirate. And while Cayde does wear armor it's lightly so, leathers mostly, metal greaves, his cloak more like a tattered scarf of the same color and pattern of his hood. At his hip he has at either side a knife and the grip of a pistol snug in its holster.

    "Sorry, 'm I interruptin' something? Took a wrong turn I guess, and all this sand's gummin' up my Sparrow."

    Spotting Fran with an arrow nocked, even if Balthier himself is only loosely armed, Rusalka sticks her hands straight up. "I am not armed! And..." Blue eyes glance skyward in the direction Balthier's looking, while standing perfectly still. His jaunty little salute gets a moment of amusement, but it quails a moment later when she realizes the truth.

    The truth being a large dust cloud puffing into existence as Cayde guns his engine for landing. Sally cringes down, blocking the worst of it by turning away but still coughing a few times before sneezing loudly. 

    Fingers point from Cayde to Balthier. "I do not know this man. I thought he was with you?" But apparently, as Cayde explains, that's not the case...okay, interesting. This world...this one's mostly empty, from what she's learned; it's certainly not the kind of place that would support someone running around with that kind of technology. A place she'd used from time to time to get between places, a shortcut...but not one of any interest.

    That she knows of, at least.

    "I take it, then, that ah...well. I suppose one of us must say hello." She nods to the stranger on the Sparrow. "Rusalka Stojespal, of...the city of Polyuchyn. You must have come through the vines...hm..." A few possible worlds are listed, all of which connect near here. Clearly this young woman knows her Tree.

    "And you should see about getting proper filters set up if you are going to spend much time," she adds, patting away dust from her jacket, before glancing at the pirates. "Balthier. As you requested." She did arrive for him, after all.

    The sky pirate folds his arms, hazel eyes flicking between the dismounted Cayde and the disembarked Rusalka. He unfolds his arms, settling for fastidiously adjusting the cuff of his shirt sleeve. Although it looks like he's not watching them, he certainly is, from the periphery of his vision. The woman with the hare's-ears is watching much less subtly. There's no mistaking her direct regard.
    "Greetings and salutations," he drawls nonchalantly to the Hunter Guardian. His voice is crisp and well-enunciated; like aristocracy, and he's certainly dressed richly as such, but no aristocrat is this. Not out in the middle of nowhere.
    The viera is a little more of a puzzle. She says nothing, merely folding her arms and resting herw eight to one side. Her footwear seems a bit puzzling, too -- stiletto heels, with two claws in place at each heel. Yet she finds her footing just fine.
    No armour on the man, though, as though he either had no need of it, or scorned it. His languid gaze takes in Cayde's appearance, filing away the details. Is he interrupting something?
    "Not at all." A grand, nonchalant gesture follows; the hair-thin gold bracelets on his left wrist clink; the rings of his left hand's middle and ring fingers gleam in the dying sun. "By all means. You look capable enough. The more, the merrier. My sympathies on the sand. It is rather a nuisance."
    His attention turns to Rusalka. "I was beginning to wonder when you'd arrive. Fran and I have been kept waiting for quite some time, and we do so loathe waiting." His mouth twists, though. It's a joke. Mostly. "I called you here because I have a business offer for you."
    "As for you... it is possible that I may have the same," he adds, looking up to Cayde. "You may as well join us at our humble campsite, fellow travellers. This way. Mind the sand. Don't trip. Yes, yes; that's the way." He's already turning and leading the others back to the actual campsite, campfire and all. Fran is still watching, for the moment silent. Maybe the rabbit-eared woman is mute?
    Or just really taciturn.
    "It's Balthier," he offers nonchalantly, to Cayde. "And this is my partner, Fran. I've a job proposition for the both of you, if you've the time to listen. Forgive the unorthodox location. We had something of a difference of opinion with the local authorities several vines back."

    "Cayde," the Exo replies, once again taking in the rest of those gathered. For all that his features are metal it doesn't seem to keep him from being expressive as he seems to smile at the invitation extended to him. He nods. "Nice to meet you all. And thanks, I don't find myself in any hurry to get back out there," he says, gesturing with his head over his shoulder. "May as well put 'er away, Sundance. At least we can keep any more sand from getting into things."

    That seemingly said to no one, it however prompts the sudden vanishing of the Sparrow behind him, breaking up into nothing but shimmering light as though it had never been, but the impression left in the sand makes it clear that it had existed only moments before.

    "So. Job proposition, eh?"

    Fran's insouciance is something she's getting used to...slightly. It's a little reminiscent of her mother's own distance, though probably for very different reasons. She hopes, anyway. Meanwhile there's much more to be interested in - especially the blue robot-man nearby.

    Balthier's teasing about her being late gets a mock-pout and a huff. "I suppose if you wanted to meet at a proper location, and a proper time, you would include a place with roads. I don't have..." She gestures to the - sudden lack of a hoverbike of Cayde's.

    Electric-blue eyes widen as the machine turns to a cloud of sparks, shimmering and disappearing completely. The dents in the sand where it rested, as well as Cayde himself, prove it was there, but being able to put it...somewhere? "I...that? That was...where did it go? I am impressed, I admit."

    Balthier bids them both forward - interesting. A sudden interloper, yet the pirate is unruffled? Mostly, anyway. But she'll step forward, short boots carefully picking their way through the sand and down to meet Balthier's little campfire.

    "A business offer, you say." She glances at Cayde, weighing things. "I suppose..." Balthier's a professional of making fast judgements, especially about people. So far, thankfully, he'd made the right ones about her - which she still must thank him for at some point. Maybe some point when he manages not to annoy the hell out of her somehow.

    A small smile crosses her face as he mentions differences of opinion. "So that is why I am late, not the open desert. They were quite interested in...foreign vehicles, three vines ago." She shrugs out of the jacket, holding it over one arm as they near the fire. "And perhaps we both may have...such opportunities to offer. But. You are our host, sir. Your business first." 

    It's a bit odd, to watch a man made of metal move and emote like a man of flesh and blood. Forgive the sky pirate's surreptitious study. He's never seen an Exo before.
    Balthier cants his head to one side, folding his arms as he does. He watches the Sparrow vanish, arching a brow. "Now that's a convenient trick," he mutters in grudging respect. Wouldn't that be useful...?
    "Something like that." Balthier's comment to the Hunter Guardian is airy; nonchalant, as he so often seems. "Ordinarily I've no interest in hiring outside help, but I find myself at a severe disadvantage lately. Frankly, you may well suit my purposes better than I'd imagined," he muses, presumablyto Cayde.
    The campfire isn't much. Curiously, the Strahl's anchor is visible from here, but the thing rests half-buried in the sand, with a heavy cable leading upward that... disappears...? How odd.
    The sky pirate paces a slow circle around the campfire, marshmallow (or whatever it really was) forgotten. "I'm in the business of airship parts. Magitech, specifically, but those worlds with a technology like yours, or yours, for that matter, are somewhat... unsatisfying, shall we say? You look quite capable," Balthier observes, gesturing carelessly to indicate Cayde. "Well-travelled, too, in your case." This, to Russlka.
    "If you come across anything interesting in the way of airship parts, I might be interested in taking them off your hands. For a fair price, naturally." Fair to whom, he doesn't specify. Finished, he folds his hands behind his back, cocking his head to eye them both. "Or, if the challenge appeals to you, I'd not refuse an extra pair of hands in acquiring said parts. What say you...?"
    These offworlders have no way to know how much it /galls/ him to network like this, not when he's so deeply accustomed to himself and Fran against the world. He and the viera woman share a brief look, although its significance is unclear; a silent agreement, maybe, that they can't keep the Strahl afloat without a bit of outside cooperation.

    Cayde seems to smirk, the orange glow from his throat visible whenever he speaks, contrasting with bright-lit blue eyes, one of which shutters and opens in a wink at Rusalka. "Matter transfer," he says. "Almost like having a Sparrow in your pocket!" Well, not really, but it's convenient.

    He glances between Rusalka and the pirates. Sure, it's a little odd to be suddenly included in this potential business venture but the Exo can understand the ways of an opportunist. He starts towards the campfire, taking in the little set-up, although his attention drifts as though something else has called the other oddity to the landscape to his attention. He eyes the anchor and the cable that it appears to tether, squinting at the lack of anything obvious thereafter.

    "Airship...?" he says, still partially distracted, but it seems he'll get no answers from staring at sky, and internally he leaves Sundance to scanning for any traces of cloaking, energy or otherwise while he turns to join the others. He folds his arms, sizing Balthier up as the man explains. 

    "So like salvaging, is it? I've gotta admit, there are thing we call airships back home but they might not be quite the same as whatever you're familiar with, so it'd help if I knew what I was supposed to be keeping an eye out for..." He indicates the anchor out yonder with a nod. And then there's that smirk again. "Acquiring, or 'acquiring' parts?" he asks, hands raised for fingers to airquote as appropriate.

    Forgive the racing engineer's less surreptitious study. She's never seen an Exo either. And she does take him in, lips pursing as she studies the thing. There's a linearity of form to the man-machine that is a little bit comforting, in a way. It isn't that he's made of complete magic elements that just do their thing because magic, rather than his design speaks to a logic she can comprehend.

    Mostly, anyway. A disappearing vehicle is still cheating, whatever it is. "Matter transfer. I...suppose I see." Not really, but she'll nod and file it away under something to research later, before glancing back at the little four-by-four she'd driven out on. Maybe it would be a useful thing, especially when one can't find parking.

    Rusalka stands there as Balthier circles, letting him pace as she shifts from foot to foot. Cayde speaks first, and it gives her a few moments to consider - as much as she needs Balthier, he needs /her/. And that's an advantage her family has taught her to take.

    She picks at imaginary dust on her jacket. "A fair price. I suppose such things can be negotiated, though..Cayde?" The foreign name slips around the accent, "Brings up a suitable point. How far on the left are your parts suppliers, typically?" She smiles. "Not that such things are my concern, of course. I am certain there would be ways to acquire suitable equipment...for fair exchange."

    The sky pirate absently toys with one of the wire-thin bracelets at his left wrist. He's watching the Hunter Guardian closely, even if his gaze isn't obvious about it. How /do/ they do that; build a man of metal, and give him things that he can disappear as effortlessly as another man breathes...? Hm. 'Matter transfer.' The term is filed away for later investigation.
    Cayde's study of the Strahl's anchor is not missed.
    Balthier glances to Fran; Fran flicks an ear in what may be her version of an indifferent shrug.
    "Airship," the hume of the pair states crisply in confirmation. There's a muted pride in his voice when he speaks of it, for what is a sky pirate without wings? "The Strahl. There's naught else like her in the whole of Ivalice... or here amongst the boughs of the World Tree, either, that I've yet found."
    There is a monstrous source of energy right over their heads, although nothing is visible beyond a slight distortion of the light. With the relative emptiness of the desert sky and the 
    Opportunist he may be, but he evidently sees no shame in it, and smiles coldly when attention is drawn to that fact. "An enterprising man learns to use what life presents to him. It's good business sense, you know. I'd be a poor sort of sky pirate if I didn't take advantage of a good opportunity now and again."
    While the Hunter Guardian sizes the sky pirate up, so too does the sky pirate size Cayde up. Those canny hazel eyes take in the details, noting the blue and orange lights, the travel-worn quality of Cayde's 'clothing,' and the mannerisms he uses as he speaks.
    The sky pirate, however, is a bit of an odd one. Despite his slow and deliberate pacing, there is a curious stillness about him, much like his silent viera companion. His eyes reflect that stillness; as though reflecting that cunning and calculation. This is no greenhorn sky pirate but a consummate professional; a man who's defied the mores of his world's society, succeeded, and wouldn't have it any other way. He's a man confident in his own skills. At first blush it might seem arrogance, but something in hisinner quiescence, his seemingly innate stillness, seems to imply that confidence might just be well-founded.
    "Something like that," Balthier replies, slowing to a halt and folding his arms in unconscious mirror to Cayde's posture. Something in his airy nonchalance suggests that no, it's nothing like salvage operations. "Whatever the situation should call for. A man has to be adaptable, you know." To Rusalka's question of how far on the left his parts suppliers, he shows his teeth. They're disgustingly white and even. A man who takes impeccable care of himself. "Rather off the map and into the realm of the sea-serpents and the wyrms," he answers smoothly; evenly. "The best parts are out of Balfonheim, but seems as I would appear to have lost dear old Ivalice... well. The leading man must be capable of a little improvisation."
    "Ah, yes, the airship. In this case, the Strahl. Yes, I suppose a look at her would be useful; it shouldn't be a problem, this world is rather boringly devoid of amusements." He half-turns, raiding a brow. "Well? Let's move."
    The sky pirate turns and heads for the anchor; somewhere between one breath and the next, the viera is gone from her boulder perch and fallen into comfortable step beside him,as though each knows without looking how close the other is without looking. That stiletto-heeled footwear of hers doesn't slow her on the sands at all. With practised ease, the smartly-dressed sky pirate scales the anchor and onto the cable, hauling himself hand-over hand. Fran follows, graceful.

    And then they vanish.
    A moment later, the very air ripples... and then she's visible.
    The Strahl is a sleek, elegant piece of machinery. Most of her steel is a faintly reddish hue. Etched and smartly blazoned on her folded wings and stabilizers are whorling, wing-like designs. There are curious horizontal rings rather than engines, and bright cyan light is thrown from them; something inside them can be seen whirling at tremendous speed. A hatch opens on her side and Balthier's head pops out; he kicks a ladder down. "Climb aboard!" he calls over the loud whine of the engines, louder now that the ship isn't cloaked.

    Cayde chuckles, his head canting in Rusalka's direction in the briefest of nods; agreement in what she expounds upon. Another example of the amount of youngsters traveling about the Tree as it were, and for that fact alone the Hunter knows better than to underestimate her. He's come across plenty of kids and teenagers in his world hopping to have found out they're skillfully adept, more often than not. It also makes him feel those centuries of age that he tends to brush off.

    Compared to the trio he currently stands in company with, the Exo seems by far the most obviously rugged, his speech nowhere near as polished but he's not so much ill-mannered as he is perpetually in casual mode. Still, while he freely treats even new acquaintances as old friends, he's studying these new folks in turn, making his own mental notes. Now and then his gaze slips over towards Fran, an obvious curiosity if mostly because she hasn't spoken a word, but he can tell between her and Balthier that trust is a precious thing given.

    "Adaptable!" He snap-points at the sky pirate. "Yes. That is an excellent way to phrase it. I needa remember that the next time I word-fence with Zavala." A bemused look crosses his face as he regards the one who refers to himself as the 'leading man.' "Heh. Far from home too, eh? Guess we're in the same boat. I figure in that case, make the best of things." It'd be just like the old days, kind of. Exploring. Shooting things. Finding lots of neat loot. At least he won't be in want of information to report should he ever stumble across a branch home. ... Yeah, this tree business is still pretty funky to him.

    As Balthier proposes they have a look at their ship, the Hunter Vanguard rubs his hands together anxiously, starting after them after exchanging a glance with Rusalka that could easily translate to the way a kid gleefully looks forward to entering a toy store. For a robot he sure acts like someone of flesh and blood.

    He stops by the anchor, watching the piratey pair head up, a gloved hand raised to shade his eyes from the sun as he looks up and up as though he could even see anything. He also tries very hard not to stare at Fran as she makes her way up after Balthier, but boy is that distracting. Cayde's Ghost had reported to him that there's definitely something up there, large at that, and now that they're close enough he can just make out the slight distortion although it's still hard to tell when there's nothing to frame it against but sky.

    When suddenly the ship becomes visible it's still surprising. Cloaking isn't something unheard of, but it's the theatrics of it all. He whistles appreciatively.

    "Now that's one helluva jumpship," the Exo comments, his grin broadening as he gets as good a look of it as he can, right before the ladder comes tumbling down towards them. He reaches out to catch hold of it, turning towards Rusalka with a bit of a gesture and a bow. "Ladies first."

    The way Balthier says 'airship' is the way Rusalka says 'racecar.' Something defining, something that sums up a part of their soul in a single thing. Well, so does 'pirate' Rusalka decides, but at least she can empathize with him in some regards. Perhaps even envy - his airship truly is his life; she doesn't have that same independence. That same freedom, in her case from the nobility and the very machinations that brought her here.

    She watches him pace, before finally taking a few steps closer to the anchor in the ground and the mooring line tied to it, that...vanishes into the sky. It'd be a neat magic trick, if it had any kind of slack to it; as it is she can loosely estimate just how much force is being applied to it - eyebrows widening at the answer, at just how big the Strahl is.

    "A neat trick," Sally adds, eyes following upwards. "I cannot see where the line ends, only...that it is not quite there, then it is not at all." She looks back at the pirate, mildly amused. "I wondered where it was that day at the pyramid, but...I suppose, such is my answer?"

    She gives a little laugh at his leading-man comment - it's become, to her, almost a bit of theater with him. "Well. So be it, although I can quite imagine such things are not easily come by in any world. And improvization..." Rusalka shrugs gently, "The true nature of the engineer. An argument with mathematics, won with determination and skill. Though I can imagine it makes things difficult, trying to match disparate systems...you are sure that such will work?"

    There's no idea if he's already started such efforts, but it never hurts to ask. Magitech, or just plain magic she supposes, is probably cantankerous with modern machinery at best.

    To Cayde, Rusalka gives a grin - okay, frankly, he's cool as far as she cares. "If ever you need transport between worlds, directions or a ride, I suppose..." He certainly seems amiable enough, and if Balthier can make a snap-decision to trust him, she can make a snap-decision to trust Balthier. "I've spent a year traveling-" Sneaking about late at night. "-and have found many vines to many places. Not...everywhere," she adds, with a nod towards the pirate and his comment about Ivalice.

    And then the pirates are up, climbing, and...disappearing. She glances down a moment, looking at the anchor - were they leaving so soon?

    Nope.

    Not one bit.

    An intense blue stare takes the ship in - //reddish metals? No, not rust. Too even; some form of alloys? Possibly not even metal,// she wonders. Stabilizers, fins, some of the Strahl is straightforward enough that the aerodynamics are easy to figure out. Others...glow and spin mysteriously.

    Cayde catches the ladder as she hops back, and she's more than happy to return the bow with a wide smile and a proper curtsey. "Sally, please. Thank you very much, sir." And then the teenaged engineer in her gets the better of her, boots clomping against the ladder's rungs very, very quickly in the ascent. Eyes widening as she takes in the ship, she can only stare.

    //Willy Wonka is a peasant!//

    Chances are good Cayde might feel a little less depressingly old. That viera, while lovely, is more ancient than she appears. Certainly older than her partner, for all that he looks anywhere from mature mid-twenties to youthful early thirties. Pinning down either's age is murky business. Every so often one might catch a glimpse of frightful age or wisdom in the viera's red-brown eyes.
    "Far from home, but not forgotten. If I've ever an opportunity to return to Ivalice, I would fain take that chance. There are stores of treasure yet undiscovered. Fran and I had our sights set on the Cache of Glabados before we found our way here. Legend, mayhap, but one with credence from what my research had told me." The sky pirate leans out the doorway of the hatch with an irreverent half-smile. "Pity, almost. But the marks, here; those are just as good, you know."
    He vanishes into the hatch.
    Fran may or may not have noticed Cayde's childish glee. Or being stared at. When he finally climbs aboard, she takes him with a silent, withering look. Balthier apparently ignores it. It's probably not the first time his partner's been the subject of staring.
    Aboard the Strahl, a narrow but impeccably clean corridor, all etched blue accents and some kind of bright, whitish metal over the faint reddish tone of the ship's hull, faces the hatch. A short and just as clean passageway leads to the passenger cabin and cargo hold, currently bereft of cargo or passengers. There's a table bolted to the far side, as well as bolted chairs, enough for plenty. Balthier throws himself into one of the chairs, casual as you please.
    And that trace of the 'leading man' is indeed theatre; a sort of comfortabler routine that Balthier employs often. He's not even as attached to it as he might seem to indicate, although even times of trouble can't always shake him from doing it.
    "In answer to your question, Princess, the Strahl was mayhap a league away; two at most. She has something of a knack for hiding in plain sight." Balthier doesn't smirk, although mirth lights his eyes in a way that suggests he could. "You won't find it on too many airships of Ivalice. It makes her something of a finicky lady, but it's well worth needing a steady hand to pilot her."
    In answer to Rusalka's question about engineering, Balthier affects a careless shrug, leaning back in his chair. "It's kept her aloft for some two sevendays, now. Frankly, I haven't a choice. There would appear to be no Ivalice to return to; a most puzzling and exasperating turn of events." He buffs his nails on his vest, before settling one arm and adjusting that sleeve's cuff with the other hand, looking down at it with hooded eyes and arched brows. "My chief engineer has been having a marvelous time of things, and if he weren't a moogle, I dare say the Strahl would have flown her last before now. Some insist humes are the best magitech engineers, but let me tell you, they're lying."
    Balthier leans back comfortably. "Welcome to my humble abode: The Strahl. Have a seat. We can discuss our terms where we are not in fact destined to get sand in everything."
    He really dislikes uncleanliness, doesn't he?

    Far be it for Cayde to turn down the offer of a ride from anyone. He's unfortunately lacking in his own jumpship for the moment, the Queen of Hearts berthed back at the Tower for a tune-up back when he'd gone roaming for a ramen break that never quite ended. "Much appreciated," he tells Rusalka. "And if you ever come across a way to the Last City on some sad version of Earth, well, you let me know."

    Once the princess has made her way up, the Exo swings up onto the ladder to follow suit. He looks around rather eagerly once setting foot onto the Strahl, although upon catching Fran's look leveled his way he raises his hands in placation, somehow managing to look apologetic. He couldn't help himself!

    Hopefully with that put to rest he can better study the rest of the ship's interior, at least what's seen of it from where they have boarded. And once they're led to the sitting area, Cayde eases himself into one of the chairs. Hopefully they're sturdy enough to hold a metal body.

    "Lack of sand, definitely a plus," he says, smirking. "So I'm not familiar with magitech but I'mma take a guess and figure this ship's powered on some kinda hybrid magical-sciencey thing? ...uhck, that just makes it sound like something up Thanny's alley. Anyway! Okay, let's just start wherever's best to get us moving fastest. What powers her, what're you in the market for, and what sorta cut do we get?"

    Following Balthier and Fran through the hatch, she nods. Even as much as he grates on her, and is very obviously someone with more than a few bounties on him - somewhere, she's sure - the charm almost works. Almost, she reminds herself, but still... //Perhaps one can be too independent, too free. To have no homeland to return to...//

    And then he's off about the treasure he can raid, and Sally just sighs. Total pirate.

    Inside the ship, she takes her time - perhaps a little deliberately slowly, inspecting the various metals that make up the corridors. The etching is impressive, and quite extensive. //Aluminum? No, it isn't...the colors are close, but wrong. An alloy of some kind?// Whatever Strahl is made of, she's pretty sure it's familiar - only a little bit different in the blends that make it happen.

    And it's as clean as she keeps her own garage. She might not be a completely fastidious picker of nits, especially with what an engine can put out, but keeping things clean and orderly is very important. And she sees it in the duo... Hiding in plain sight? "So I see. Or rather, did not, obviously. An impressive ability." That must be where he'd disappeared to after their little jaunt on the freeway after; she //knew// she hadn't simply lost track of the hovercycle!

    Cayde's request is noted. "Last City...that...sounds ominous. I have been to a few places, perhaps, that might be similar...but none were named that. And with all due respect, sir, I have never met someone like...yourself." Whatever an Exo is, she's definitely curious. And then she can't help but laugh at the comment at sand. 

    "Quite troublesome. Perhaps it is good for such a meeting, but I would not want to camp in it. And do not listen to this man. I am not a princess no matter what he may say otherwise." The nonchalant command of her tone, however, definitely belies the blue blood that runs through her veins.

    When talk turns back to Ivalice, Rusalka shakes her head. "I have still heard nothing of such a place. I cannot search all the time, but." Shrug. "If I do, as I said, I will inform you. And...as far as our terms, your engineer. What precisely do they need?" Time to see the shopping list.

    The Strahl's chairs are sturdier than they look, and they have the appearance of something very solid. Their construction allows for a narrow radius to swivel, and Balthier takes full advantage of this, leaning back and folding his arms in one of them. Even someone of Cayde's approximate build and weight should be reasonably comfortable in one.
    Fran passes one more withering look over Cayde before letting the silent subject drop. Enough to let him know she's /not pleased/, but enough for him to know she's not going to put an arrow through his glowy eye socket.
    Yet, anyway.
    Balthier considers for a moment, as though realising that he's dealing with people who aren't familiar with Ivalice's familiar ways.
    "All Ivalician airships are powered by skystones. Skystone is a type of magicite, which is a mineral uncommonly rich in magick. As to what magick is... call it what you will. Energy. Potential. Life force itself. I'm hardly a scholar in such things, but they're all valid, at least according to Fran."
    The viera solemnly dips her head, as though to affirm the veracity of her observation.
    "It's an invaluable energy source, especially to large and territory-hungry entities like the Archadian Empire, or the Rozarrian Empire. In most cases, it outperforms coal, gasoline... just about anything." He gestures carelessly, the wire-thin bracelet at his left wrist clinking softly with its neighbour. "So. Relatively small mass, quite a lot more power output than you would think."
    Tilting his hand this way and that to examine the cuff of his sleeve, he then folds his arms, regarding the others through hooded hazel eyes. "It's possible to improvise compatible technology, but the problem is that very little of it is actually compatible. My chief engineer's been forced to employ ingenious and devilishly cunning workarounds. The bottom line is, the Strahl isn't going to run for much longer like this. Not unless we find something closer to that which hails from the shipwright manufactories of Ivalice," he finishes, crisply.

    "Ideally, I'd prefer to find some sort of mineral comparable in power output to magicite. I have samples I can provide if you've some means of measuring it; anything that is similar in composition would likely do." He shrugs. "Ordinary mechanical solutions are acceptable, but not quite as efficient for my purposes. Not all of the Strahl's functions are dependent on magicite."
    Fran folds her hands over her table. Her nails are absurdly long, almost more like claws than nails. Her red-brown eyes flick between Cayde toRusalka and back again, content for the moment just to study them. In Cayde's case, she's sizing the Exo up, one warrior to another.
    There are no wasted movements in her mannerisms; not so much graceful -- although she is that -- as absurdly efficient. She might have a rabbit's features but there's nothing docile about her. She is something wild; and also something of the wild. Mayhap she left the Wood... but some tiny, hidden piece of the Wood will never leave her, no matter how long she lives among humes.
    "Sounds ominous indeed. One might expect a cheerier welcome in the Necrohol of Nabudis," Balthier mutters, gaze sliding to a bulkhead. His attention flicks back to the Strahl's guests. "Still, I'll keep that name in mind, on the off chance I ever happen across it. Doubtful, you understand; highly doubtful, but I suppose it's possible."
    Standing, he turns to pace again; slinky like a big cat, so slow and deliberate it almost luls into a false sense of security. Yet the sky pirate is always watching, listening; so is his partner, even if she seems to lounge in her chair.
    He casts a skeptical look when Rusalka denies being a princess, but holds his tongue.
    What does his engineer need?
    "I'll have a list prepared for you both. Nono is my chief engineer, and he should have something handy." Balthier examines the immaculate cuff around his other wrist. "He's quite thorough, so you can expect it soon."

    Content to find that the chair bears his weight (and even spins!), the Exo doesn't hesitate to make himself really comfortable, leaning back after spinning a couple times just for kicks. He crosses one leg over the other as he settles, looking like he hasn't a care in the world.

    "Skystones..." he muses, stroking his chin. Magicite, ultimately, whatever this mysterious mineral is. Magick itself for all the things Balthier lists off seems more a catch-all for what it does, and he can't help but think about the Light, so given them by the Traveler. Eh, maybe that's a stretch, although it's still a Guardian's life source, in a way.

    Letting the subject pass without interuption, Cayde nods slowly as Balthier goes on to speak of his concerns regarding the state of his airship. "That's understandable. Well, at least with an expanse of worlds to access, the possibility of finding something to supplement your skystone shortage might not be as difficult as it could be." Or that's just him being optimistic, but it seems a fair enough thing to say. So far he's been to a myriad of worlds, and even the Earths he's crossed haven't been exactly the same. "But if we can throw together a kind of back-up drive that runs on a more accessible fuel source, your Strahl would be unstoppable."

    He grins, a grinning, daring fool one might say, and to an extent they wouldn't be wrong. In a way its his own defense, but the lines have blurred that it's become as good a part of him as everything else. Easier this way. Easier to keep going, when the past is full of darkness and fire and mounds of bodies, foes and all too many friends.

    With things veering slightly into more familiar territory Cayde's smile somehow softens into something more weary.

    "Well, I guess in a way it's ominous. But it's named simply because it is just that, the last city." Cayde lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "Saying that my world's been through some rough times is an understatement and I'll spare you the details. But just in case you -do- come across it, just be careful. You all look like careful, capable people with good heads on your shoulders, so I don't needa tell you to be on your guard. Lotta hostiles around there."

    The Exo waves a hand. Enough about him. And while he doesn't question Rusalka's denial of her royal position he doesn't dismiss it completely either. Girl's obviously got some sort of high upbringing; it's in her stature, the way she carries herself and how she speaks. But then he's met other princesses on his world-hopping ventures, so it's nothing to write home about either, so to speak.

    Back to business, then. He nods at Balthier, winks at Fran. "Great. Sounds good. Be like a scavenger hunt. And about our cut?"

    In case the pirate forgot, but heaven forbid! But the Hunter has to ask. He's not exactly rich, and depending on how they go about obtaining things, or even for scouting out potential places to hit- that's their time and effort. And bullets, if he has to use 'em.

    Sitting properly, Rusalka crosses her legs and stares down at the table, thinking. Magicite. She'd seen a stone of it, that first time Balthier had shown up at the gala and practically kidnapped her. And shot at her, for which she refuses to forgive him despite her mother's wishes. He explains further, and she listens closely, making mental notes - and confessing.

    "Where I am from, of course, no such thing exists. Not perhaps out of legends, but..." Shrug. "That, I am clearly unable to directly supply. Perhaps, however, there are solutions in other branches upon this Tree, worlds more like Ivalice?" The foreign word gets said carefully, making sure she's getting it right. "And as far as potential options otherwise...I believe that can be provided."

    Cayde's comment on the worlds out there gets a nod. "As Cayde says. There are...similar places I have seen, though I have not heard of...skystones, you said?" She glances back and forth, then nods. "He is correct. Even if it were forced to use mere gasoline," she adds, the air of self-assurance almost reaching Balthier levels, "it would still perform as you know it, or better. I would not permit anything else."

    Screw it, if she's getting into the same boat - quite literally - as this pirate, she's by god going to have the fastest boat in the sky.

    Fran's occasional gaze gets a nod of acknowledgement, though her mind is much more focused on the technical aspects. For flight...those wings may yet be useful, with powered assistance - a spare turbofan or two? It isn't as if equipment vanishes without being noticed. But can she arrange the //theft// of airfraft engines?

    Well, it isn't as if her mother is in no position to make it happen.

    Balthier mentions he'll keep an eye out for such a place, and she can't help the comment. "Nothing valuable to steal there?" Ahem. Moving right along to the engineering list! "Excellent. The details will help, I admit...I would like to have a closer look at your engineering...rooms? I suppose that is the term? It would help understand the technical situation, at least."

    Fortunately Cayde brings up the question of quid pro quo first, and she smiles. Excellent - his need might indeed be greater, but after they negotiate Balthier will be more likely to accept other terms as well. Once the agreement starts, it's easier to add bits, rather than force something from the start...or so she's been taught.

    The hume of the pair seems to care little as Cayde tests out the chair, but his partner is watching like a hawk, with a look that suggests her lack of amusement.
    "Skystones," Balthier confirms, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers and leaning forward. "Magicite is prepared into a number of different purpose-driven variants. Spellstone allows for the invocation of magick seven by the layman. Skystones power airships. Other varieties serve as power sources for different things."
    He straightens, neatening an embroidered silk cuff. "I believe any of these varieties could be adapted into skystones, with some trial and error, but only the most potent source will do. Airships place a tremendous draw on the powerplant." The sky pirate gestures, as in miming an aircraft falling from the sky. "Even a relatively small ship requires a fairly potent source of power."
    "Law of Averages," Balthier says with a careless shrug. "Out of so many worlds, the way we figure it, we're bound to find something we can readily adapt. That is, if we've no luck finding something directly compatible. He may not look like much, but my chief engineer is a force of nature," he adds, distractedly.
    "My engineer came to the same conclusion, and Fran and I are inclined to agree with him. It could activate when the magicite fails. Even though she's got a skystone that can fly through jagd, she still seems to wallow in them from time to time."
    Fran flicks an ear indifferently and folds her arms, red-brown eyes skewering both guests in turn. "Regions where the Mist is particularly strong; jagd, and most airships will not heed, when flown in. The Strahl has skystone heart, one that powers her even through jagd. But here we have seen things other than jagd behave as jagd." Her voice is low and gravelly, almost scratchy; words oddly archaic and phrased in peculiar order, accented exotically. To one of Earth, they would sound Icelandic.
    "In other words, there's no reward for taking unnecessary risks," Balthier finishes, spreading his hands. "If it's your cup of tea, most excellent, and may we work something out advantageous to both parties. If not, I'll think no less of you if you leave."
    Rusalka might be assuming that the sky pirate would be thinking something like this: 'Except the part where I am totally judging you,' at the end.
    She might not be wholly wrong.
    But those hazel eyes give nothing away.
    "Still, macabre stuff... best of luck with that, I suppose," Balthier says in regards to the Lost City and how it came by that moniker. "We can take care of ourselves, however. The leading man is hardly bothered by a few monsters," he adds, disdainfully. Besides, a good sky pirate is an alert one. Authorities are always three steps behind the really good ones.
    Fran does not wink back at Cayde. She stares dead in at him, deliberately swiveling both ears backwards; a gesture that, taken with her laser-intense state, practically screams of how thin the ice Cayde's standing on is. Balthier tactfully ignores the threat display. It may be that he's seen it more than once.
    "You will of course be afforded due compensation for your time and efforts. You've choice of salvage, as well, if it's of no use to me." He hoods his eyes, arching a brow. "'Tis only fair. No sense wasting it: If you prefer salvage to a cut, you're welcome to it."
    Balthier raises a brow at Rusalka's question. Nothing of value to steal in the Last City? "I'm certain there is. I'm also certain you would make a singularly terrible sky pirate. You don't just move in blind and let yourself be caught like an amateur. You /study/ it, first." He's so off-handed about all that that it must be the truth as he sees it; the fine art to sky pirating that he seems to take such professional pride in. He may be societal scum, but he's very /dedicated/ societal scum. There is an /art form/ to pirating one's weaselly black guts out.

    "And lo, she speaks!" Cayde says once Fran breaks her silence, and one can just imagine the dancing twinkle of amusement from those brightly glowing blue eyes of his. Oh, he probably knows he's treading dangerous grounds between himself and the viera but surely they couldn't have expected him not to say anything! He seems like a metal man always with a comment or something at the ready.

    Jagd. The lore of such is a bit of a thing to unravel even with what Fran offers by way of explanation. The Exo supposes it's just one of those things that would make better sense if you actually experienced or saw it. But he gets the idea well enough when it comes to not wanting to take any trips through questionable places and even otherwise without some kind of reassurance.

    "I'm no stranger to risks-" A statement likely of no surprise to anyone. "-but only if it seems worthwhile," Cayde says. If Sundance were materalized beside him she'd be nodding.

    "Not entirely monsters. They might look it, and in the case of the Hive, act it." Here he shudders slightly. "-but they're also their own people. The Fallen. The Hive. Vex. The Cabal. Scavengers, dark mystics of darker arts, sentient hive-minded techno-entities and warmongers, respectfully. If you end up on our Earth, the most you'll run into are the Fallen, and maybe some smattering of Hive nests if you're really looking for them." 

    He laughs at Rusalka's bold question, Balthier's rejoinder.

    "The Last City is where the last of humanity on Earth lives. It might imply something ruined, but it's a modern city, with people just trying to get by and forget that outside there used to be a wider world they could live in." He glances off as he speaks, wistful, perhaps. True, most of his days had been spent in the Tower ever since he'd lost the Dare that saddled him with the Hunter Vanguard responsibilities left him by his late friend Andal Brask, but it's funny what you find you miss when you're no longer able to just be there.

    "....where was I? Anyway, if you want stuff to steal, plenty of places to poke around for salvage around the rest of the Earth, Russia, the EDZ, the Moon, Venus, Mars, etcetera, if you can get there. You'll have plenty of competition though."

    The blue-eyed girl nods, listening carefully for a moment - before plucking a small paper notebook and pen from inside her jacket. Notes, scribbled down in her native language, comments on what Balthier is describing. Spellstones, skystones, jagd. "An interesting mineral. Very adaptive, I suppose...it is not possible to artificially create magicite, specifically skystones? By in...jecting magic of some kind?" The terminology is probably only slightly applicable, but it's what she has to work with.

    "There are minerals that are //supposed// to contain energy, and some that provide interesting reactions, perhaps. But instead of providing magicite or, perhaps, other technologies," she adds with a nod to Cayde, "I believe providing supplementary resources would be within my power, and my family's. Not to suggest that we turn this ship into a rocket, or anything such. But I think you will find we can be eminently adaptable."

    God she sounds so much like her mother, she almost wants to vomit inside. Damn all those lessons, augh!

    "And, with respect, salvage of technologies like...ah, I think you called it Matter Transfer?" This to the Exo. "Certainly there would be something useful, if such things could be adapted." And not just to Strahl, she doesn't say. "I suppose, at least a look at what Cayde's world offers is not out of hand?"

    Balthier might totally be judging her - especially her. Well judge this, sky pirate. "I see no reason to spurn your request. It is an interesting one," she adds, with a gesture to the ship itself. "And an interesting vessel. Thank you for letting me aboard to see it." And she smiles, legitimately happy - frankly, it //is// damn cool.

    //And now to set the hook, as mama would say.// "Technical assistance is offered, with what might be available. In return, as the subject has been broached, there is little I would need from salvage." It's all yours, Balthier, enjoy it. "I simply...suggest a trade of services, instead; specifically your service as a pilot and ship owner. I suppose you could call it a favor, in the future."

    Red-brown eyes rake over Cayde once more, but aside from that withering look, Fran remains silent once she's delivered her necessary exposition. Balthier, for his part, laces his fingers and studies the Exo nonchalantly. There seems to be some subtle approval in his regard, on the nature of taking risks and the obsessive need to not do it unless it's advantageous.
    He shrugs a shoulder, careless, at the possibility of competition. "We'll see about that. I'm afraid Fran and I aren't very good at sharing. I'm no stranger to competition. If at all possible, I'd prefer to avoid it. It isn't good for business."
    "Manufacted nethicite," Balthier answers, in response to the question of whether magicite can be artificially created. His tone sours, subtly. "A specialty of Draklor Laboratories of Archades. While the Strahl's current skystone is made of the stuff, it isn't volatile like other examples of manufacted nethicite. Can't say I'm well acquainted with how the stuff is made, unfortunately. Still nasty stuff. Best left alone. No, nothing but the natural ore for this classy lady," he adds, patting the bulkhead.
    He folds his arms as he leans back in his chair.
    "You're welcome," the sky pirate replies, and there's something in the coolness of his eyes that suggests he's wary of her sudden cooperation and congeniality. Sky pirates are an especially wary breed. He tips his head slightly. "While I appreciate the offer, it isn't necessary. I prefer to see to her well being personally; so does Fran." It is functionally their home, after all. "I see. Scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, is it? Well, I'd not say no to a favour, Princess. Very well... but no one else so much as touches the Strahl, are we clear...?"

    Cayde's certainly no note-taker, his Ghost is probably doing all that for him, being data-minded and such. Sure, there's a better chance that they might not come across any instances that the information would be beneficial, but information is information, and if nothing else, maybe Cayde can dangle it in front of Thanatos if he feels like bothering the Warlock.

    "...nah, making it a rocket would mess with the lines. It's like slapping extra things on a perfected piece of art!" Or at least it is in his mind, as he's just imagining giant thrusters welded onto the Strahl, which doesn't look at all pretty in his head.

    There's no question that he finds the airship 'cool'; his initial comment has made that clear from the get-go. And thankfully for Balthier and Fran, Cayde doesn't seem to have any designs on trying to get his hands into the workings of the ship. He seems satisfied enough just being allowed aboard, although he wouldn't say no to being a passenger for an actual trip, if just to say that he's been on an airship. ...although he might get it into his head his head that he'd like to try piloting...

    Laughing, he leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows across his knees. "Eh, competition's only worthwhile if it's fun. I'll tell you right now, my interests are more in weapons and maybe the occasional shiny. Parts and things? Wouldn't know what to do with 'em in my current situation so they're good as yours if you make it worthwhile for me, but I'm open for bargaining."

    It's no surprise at all to him that Balthier and Fran would rather keep the hands of strangers off of their precious ship. Cayde figures it's like how he feels about his transports, although he knows that Holliday has a better handle on how to keep them running than he does, which is the only reason he lets the pilot and mechanic do any work on them, so long as she doesn't try to 'improve' them. Pah. Upgrades. He's pretty sure he's modded the Gambler's Palm with the best parts that would probably disqualify him from trying to enter any Sparrow races if they looked under the figurative hood.

    Even as Balthier addresses Rusalka on the matter of who touches his ship, the Exo raises his hands in response, just to make it clear that -he's- clear. That suggested smirk returning across his metal features, he straightens in his seat, glancing between those around him.

    "But if we're all good and in agreement otherwise... Lookin' forward to working with you all."