World Tree MUSH

 Location: 
 Lylat/Solar Binary Star System 
 Meteo Asteroid Belt 
 Sargasso Sector 
 Sargasso Station -- Star Wolf HQ 

     Sargasso Station is a rather large space station nestled and hidden in the depths of the absurdly crowded field of magnetic planetoids. The wildly fluctuating magnetic fields caused by the clustering of massive chunks of metallic rock make for a lot of false readings on most instruments along with presenting a very physical set of hurdles to navigate. Actual navigational maps become obsolete within a few Cornerian Days. As such, if one does not have access to local scans -- a thing that many pilots do not have as most avoid the denser sections of Meteo altogether -- they must navigate by hand. The larger the ship, the harder the task. 

     The station itself is of Venomian design, meaning that it is made in spartan industrial image: it is functional alone and not made for looking pretty. Giant rotating arms around the station provide shielding against rock shards and radiation while the nearby floating asteroids have turrets mounted upon them. A semi-steady flow of traffic comes and goes from the hub, but in the face of it, despite being created as a self-sufficient colony station, it now feels very much like a well-armed fortress. 

     Multiple whispers circulate around those aboard the Sargasso Space Station, a space platform hidden within the Meteo Asteroid Belt serving as main HQ to Star Wolf, that the legendary -- and, to them, infamous -- Fox McCloud would be approaching and docking in a non-hostile manner for the purposes of refueling, repairing, and... 

     "Excuse me, what?!" exclaims one monkey as he double-checks the notification that McCloud is in the sector. Alone. He scrambles to get on comms with Security stationed on some of the nearby free-floating planetoids for confirmation. "This is insane," he breathes, but the order was signed off by the Big Guy and, as crazy as it sounds, you don't defy Lord O'Donnell's command. 

     Putting out a hail to the mercenary's ship, the monkey seems a bit out of his depth: his eyes are wide, his voice has a mild shake, all despite his best attempt to remain as steadfast as possible. "This is Operator Gibson of Star Wolf. I-I know who you are, but I need you to transmit your ID anyway, A-a-arwing Pilot." Such a process is simple enough and very much standard; a basic confirmation is all that is needed. A moment is waited for such to be done.

It would seem that, despite the fact that the Arwing is alone and not with the team it's known to travel with, that it doesn't have hostile intent. Otherwise instead of responding to the hail with the transmission codes that are requested, it would probably respond with a few twin laser shots and maybe a bomb or two.

Instead, once the proper codes have been transmitted, the ship turns and angles towards the dock. The ship is going to hold position until the full clearance is granted, and then he'll fly inside and dock. But he'll follow the rules and wait for full clearance first before he does.

     In reply to this docking protocol, Operator Gibson confirms and informs, "Arwing Pilot, McCloud, F-fox. Clearance is granted for Hangar Door Two. Please follow the docking beacon coordinates within and on be-behalf of Star Wolf...Welcome to Sargasso Station. Lord O'Donnell has been notified of your presence and will be- Uh, and will join you on the deck shortly." The comms don't immediately cut, however, as Gibson looks away toward somebody else. "...is this real life, right now?" And comms shut off. 

     The docking beacon can easily provide guidance into the awaiting docking bay, completely at the discretion of the one on approach. One thing is for sure: At the moment, all eyes are on this apparently welcomed foe. The docking process allows for a measure of automation once through the forcefield that maintains the internal atmosphere, also at the discretion of docking pilots. The normally busy deck filled with mechanics to oversee repairs and maintenance of spacecraft both of their own possession and those of visiting clients and trading entrepreneurs is now mostly still. A few are very dedicated to their work and the sound of mechanical tools being used are much easier to single out what with the rather ominous silence that accompanies that combined staring gaze at the docking of a ship that has only ever docked once before. A lot of loyal men died that day when McCloud came knocking for information on Pigma Dengar. That day was only about two years ago. Some employees still bear the scars from that encounter. 

     There's no reason for them to believe that this is a different Fox. A few are gathered nearby, however, but they all seem on edge and reluctant to actually greet and inform where the local trading centers and eateries are located a deck above. Not a single one of them seem to be armed, of great note.

When the arwing passes through the forcefield and approaches the docking clamps, Fox settles it in, and ensures it's locked down, before he opens the hatch. Once the Arwing hatch is open, Fox hops out, landing on the deck with a soft thud, looking around at all the others. A lot of which seem to be looking straight at him. He is armed, even if they're not. But the blaster is in the holster, and the holster is latched shut for now. He walks past them, heading for the main hall for now. After all, Wolf is supposed to meet him...He figures maybe he can meet half way.

     It's a very awkward sort of situation and the mere presence of James' son is enough to put a real wrench into the normally smoothly-running operations aboard the ship. Word travels fast. Those on the Docking and Hangar Deck may be silently staring with the barest whispers amongst them, but other decks are abuzz with gossip and talk. The tougher of them boast of what they would do in a fight with McCloud while others question the pilot's presence in the first place. 

     "Rumor has it McCloud leveled the boss onto the ground once with a single punch," spits one feline ruffian quietly to another. 

     "The way I heard it, Fox played dirty when the boss dropped by to recruit that shapely puff of fluff, Krystal," retorts one dog. 

     "This is some parallel universe McCloud, right?" worries a lizard in a near-silent hiss. 

     "You think the boss is getting soft?" gossips a monkey. 

     Nevertheless, chin-wagging aside, it doesn't change the fact that this moment is a Really Big Deal. While the group near Fox's Arwing seem to be there for greeting, none can manage the courage to really step forward to do so when Fox disembarks and begins to walk by. They do exchange glances between themselves wondering if somebody should actually tell the vulpine to stay until O'Donnell arrives. By the time they decide on one to say something, however, McCloud fully passes by to wander on -- this fills the group with great relief and great despair. They are saved the wrath of their boss, though. 

     Over where the main lifts are for personnel and cargo mostly leading upward into the rest of the station, a set of lift doors open and a familiar silhouette steps free into the lighting. Unlike any armed encounters, Wolf O'Donnell is not wearing armor. He's clad in casual leather boots, tough cloth pants, and a solid black muscle shirt. A shiny pendant hangs around his neck. A simple patch covers his left eye. His right hand pulls a cigarette away from his muzzle and a searching purple eye looks for a certain figure. He only needs to follow the directions of the many gazes around. 

     "I never thought I'd see this day," he mumbles to himself before taking a few steps forward with a small smile, then bellows out, "Do I pay you all to stand around and gawk? Take a picture and get back to work! McCloud-" The non-cigarette-holding hand sweeps in gesture before himself. "Is our guest." Wolf continues to close the distance, slowly, before adding a more conversational in volume, "Isn't that right, Fox?"

"Your crew looks like they've seen a ghost." Fox says, as he walks up towards Wolf, before taking a moment to look back over his shoulder, "Or the boogey man." Tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he steps over towards Wolf again, "I'm not here to cause trouble, don't worry. I don't know how the Fox they know from this world is...But I keep my word."

     It was an odd thing to see Fox McCloud on his station in person. Wolf only has security footage of the intrusion from two years previous. Away on business related to the Aparoids, he had to abort the mission and return 'home' to Sargasso Station when he had heard Star Fox was attacking it through a call for reinforcements. He lost more people to the Aparoids that day because of McCloud. There are many reasons blood runs hot regarding his personal adversary. Making a list would take far too much time. 

     Still, there Fox is. A Fox, anyway. Wolf tips his head to the side ever so faintly in an appraising glance while moving a hand to place his cigarette to his lips and then use those sharp claws to scratch at the underside of his chin in thought. "Oh, I'm pretty sure I can get you caught up," comments Wolf on the matter. He stares for about half a second too long past that line of social awkwardness before adding, "Anyway, look. I'm going to have my head engineer, Nichols, give your ship a once over -- if you still want that check-up and general repair -- and we'll get you properly refueled. We need to make sure you have complete data regarding -this- Lylat, too, just to make sure you're up to date. Heh!" 

     Wolf finds something suddenly funny, but mostly waves it off. "Your ship, by our year, is a bit dated, but not by too much. Still, we, uh, we won't go changing anything around without your permission. Heh heh. Seriously, though, nobody's gonna do anything to your Arwing. I've made it perfectly clear that I won't tolerate it." After all, Wolf always states that the matter is a personal one, so interference from others will be met with brutal and merciless attention. 

     "It's gonna take a while." Wolf doesn't offer, throughout any of this exchange, to shake hands in greeting. His own hands may move around in gesture, but they stay pretty close to himself. He's...notably relaxed, but how much of it is genuine and how much is a matter of showing confidence in front of his employees is hard to tell. "You want something to eat? Something to drink? Or shall I just give you the half-credit tour on the way to your room?"

Fox wasn't offended by the lack of a handshake. In fact he kind of prefered it. They were being friendly but each of them had a history with the other...Or at least a version of the other, "If you want to do upgrades, I say go for it." Fox replies, "I'll have to pay you back for them of course, but.." He rubs his muzzle for a moment, "I'm already going to owe you for the tune up and the fuel anyway, so no reason not to tack some extra on while we're at it.." He actually grins, if only faintly, 

"So tell me, Wolf. How did you manage to ammass such a large following and...Well this space station." He figures he'll just get straight to the point. He has no idea how Wolf managed to get past where he was just a merc for Andross.

     "You probably already know of this station, although you may not have seen it firsthand before." It was a hard thing to figure, difficult to assume, knowing that histories are likely very similar but clearly differing on some levels for Wolf and Fox respectively. The middle-aged lupine scrunches up his face a bit, slightly showing some teeth, before he thumbs over his shoulder. "Look, pup, I'll be happy to walk and talk, and if you insist on wanting to haunt the hangar deck to keep an eye on your ship you can, but I'd really rather get you out of sight of my engineers so they can focus on not screwing things up. Can we-" 

     Wolf interrupts himself; he very nearly asked a question in a more than congenial way. "Let's go get a drink or something." Anywhere but here, it seems. He turns around with a faint shake of his head, pulling his cigarette free, blowing a stream of smoke as he wanders toward the lift without waiting for a real response. He doesn't raise his voice, either. Conversationalists need to keep up. "This colony station was used as a hidden resupply depot for the armada that was used to front the assault on Corneria back in the Great War." 

     And that...is a conversational piece. The Great War. The Lylat Wars. A year-long civil war between Doctor Andross and his Venomian Coalition and General Pepper and the Cornerian Alliance. The war that Wolf and Fox fought in on opposing sides. Wolf walks up to the lift and opens the doors before entering. "Yyyyep. That station. Welcome aboard, I guess."

Fox has a feeling like this may not be a topic that Wolf likes to talk about. So he won't push the subject unless Wolf offers more, "A drink sounds good. You have a bar on this thing right?" He asks, as he keeps his hands in his jacket for now, "Lead the way, big guy. I'll follow your lead for now."

     The personnel elevator is Venomian in design. In fact, the entire station's manufacture reeks of its origin. As such, there's a healthy dose of simpler mechanics mixed in with the typical advanced electronics that are signature of Lylatian creation. While the lift uses grav-tech, enough components are moving mechanical parts that the feeling of being inside it might be somewhat jarring. It's far less as pleasing an experience as something one would find aboard a Cornerian frigate or inside a Cornerian shopping mall, or...Cornerian anything, for that matter. The gritty nature of the station adds to the image, or something. Whatever reason behooves O'Donnell, the station has gone without any sort of electromechanical overhaul. Newer things are integrated as applicable, but the station is well over a decade old now. While built to last functionally, it wasn't built to be very pretty. 

     Wolf stands just inside. There's plenty of space for Fox to stand at whatever distance might be the most comfortable, but when the lift doors close it can certainly become clear enough to Fox that Wolf is somewhat uncomfortable himself. "Yeah, there's a cantina a deck up. We'll drop by for a nip and when you feel like some personal space, just let me know. I've got a room prepared for your stay and all." 

     O'Donnell scratches at his cheek a bit before glancing to the side over at Fox. Notably, it's his blind side closest his rival. "Well, after you killed Andross -- the other you -- most of his forces were left scattered and unguided. It didn't take much to give them a new banner to rally under, along with the remnants of my old pirate gang torn apart by your pop. Things kinda built up from there." A clawed fingertip presses a button on the lift panel to head up one level. Of course, the hangar deck is huge, so it's not exactly an instant trip. Aren't annoyingly slow elevator rides supposed to help people bond? 

     "What do you think about that?"

Nothing says friendly chat like a long elevator ride. Or maybe a loading screen. Fox stands just outside of an arm's distance away. It's nothing personal against Wolf, just a safety precaution he takes in regards to everyone.

"I will admit to being impressed by your setup." Fox says, as he finally makes a comment to break the awkward silence, "It's not as...Practical as the Great Fox but considering you can run a lot more operations from it, I'd say it fits you."

     "I try to do more with my time than just shoot things," counters Wolf with an edge of a mix between unsure irritation and forcefully-reinforced complacency regarding the success that the station exhibits. "Even if I'm really really good at shooting things," he adds, just to make sure to emphasize the matter, because what between the two isn't a contest? "Still, you've only seen the outside and the hangar deck." 

     As if on cue, the lift doors open to reveal the more public deck of all those available on Sargasso Station. This deck contains the main commissary, a bar for serving alcoholic things and with typical bar entertainment, offices for people to make deals and broker the trade of goods or information, and a commons area for general open-space socialization with tables, seats, and...greenery? The main view from the lift, doors open, shows the Commons while the entrances to various areas can be seen around it (and sign postings on the walls show where other areas on-deck are located, especially through some of the side halls). It's likely no coincidence that the cantina's entrance is merely a few feet away from the main personnel elevator. 

     As a note of interest for the keen-eyed, the view granted of the Commons and the social workings within reveals that there are more than just Wolf's men aboard the station. Various businesspersons of varying specialties can be seen amongst those present, or at least one might figure they are not Wolf's -- actually, when the station isn't under alert, it might be surprising how much 'normal' life goes on aboard it and just as amazing it might be, then, that it can honestly be hard to tell some of the Star Wolf employees from other folks around on personal or corporate business, either illegal or fully legitimate. 

     Wolf O'Donnell steps free, happy to lead the way, and the visible leading certainly will help with any other faces that decide to stare. And people are absolutely going to stare. There is no bouncer at the entrance to the bar. Residents and guests are expected to behave via the Honor System, because the alternative means calling in Upper Management, and nobody -- nobody -- wants that. 

     The inside of the bar is notably darker in lighting than the main Commons and has a clear Venomian-inspired edge to the decor. While still spartan in design, benches, booths, and chairs are all designed to seat even the largest lizard. The bar is manned by a single bartender and the shelves behind the counter along the wall display many types of ferments and distillates. Some are from other star systems. Others still are from different 'Dimensions'...all accessed through the Vines of the World Tree. The patrons within range from the expected rough-types to the more casual and far-less imposing. It might seem to be a bit of a dive, overall, but, then again, that could just be the fault of Venomian decoration and design. 

     "Well, we can step into the cantina here, if you want. Unless you've changed your mind."

"I can see why you like this place." Fox says, after stepping inside and taking a look around, "Could use a plate glass window in the front for people to get thrown through, though." He muses, as he casts a sideways smirk towards Wolf.

 "So you got your own private VIP table or what, Wolf? Maybe a little roped off area so you can look down at everybody from on high?" He's been doing his best to be friendly, while still shooting an occasional barb here and there.

     "Heh." 
         The exhaled single laugh from O'Donnell not only speaks of his expectation for such biting remarks, but one might also notice genuine amusement there. The simply-dressed Space Pirate leader does exactly that in leading the way into the bar. Those present within quiet already low voices at the sight of whom follows behind their boss or business partner (the cantina is open to all visitors). As before, as throughout the rest of the station so far, the appearance of McCloud is enough to put most people on edge. The only controlling factor is Wolf's own presence. 

     "Well, it might surprise you, pup," replies Wolf as he gestures to the bartender while wandering over to a booth, "But I use the same tables and chairs as everybody else." The table is mostly clean and the booth seats are almost cozy. The floor, well, it's not something you'd want to lick, but that's to be expected for a dive-type bar. "We're a family as much as we are a business. I know each and every single member of my organization by name and every time I lose one, like to your counterpart, we all feel it." 

     O'Donnell slides into a booth seat. "So, what kind of poison can I buy for you, Fox?" Even Wolf has to buy his booze. Just like everybody else.

"That Fox is not me." He reminds Wolf, "I don't know what his reasoning was, though I'd imagine it had to do with his version of James McCloud." He says, "And I'll just take a whiskey, on ice." He takes a moment to look at the small display on his left wrist.

"So I have to know, Wolf. How did things in this world get so..." He tries to think of the right word, "Topsy turvey. I mean you're in charge of a large mercenary company, I'm apparently some kind of rogue pilot who kills without a second thought. Where did things change? Or is it just that's how life is bound to end up and I still see things too black and white?"

     The bartender, whom has approached the table in order to get drink orders from the two, acknowledges Fox's order before looking to Wolf. O'Donnell orders two pints of dark ale and some Vine-imported vodka. "Just bring the bottle with the glass and ice separate." The old dog heads back to get those things leaving the adversaries alone. A curious gaze is given to Fox as the lupine turns a bit and pulls his leg up to stretch it out along his side of the booth. 

     "I'm not sure just what you think our history is, but I can give you the short short version." O'Donnell holds up a hand and gestures a small amount with the tiny distance between his thumb and forefinger. "But only because you ask, which is more than the Fox I know has done. Mostly because we're not exactly on speaking terms. If anything, it'll be a good check to see how different our own universes are." Wolf clears his throat and leans against the wall while resting one elbow upon the table's top. 

     "So, as you may already know, your pop was my mmmm, not quite mentor -- 'teacher' when you were just a bundle of fluff," says Wolf, although he clearly means the other Fox McCloud, but one might simply have to roll with it. "Because he was tight with Pepper, being his best soldier from a very young age and affectionately called his star fox, he had the pull to get me into the academy and taught me a lot about how to fly. We...had a bit of a falling out. Over you, actually. So I dropped out, left, used what I learned to do my own thing." As in, he started up his own Space Pirate group that became a real system-wide terror.

"The Wolf from my world is a lot closer to my age than you are." Fox says, as he listens to the explanation, "The Fox here, he sounds like he should have seen you as an older brother, but something must have happened. Whatever that is, I don't know yet."

"If I can be totally honest with you, Wolf, I don't know if I ever see us being friends. You're...I mean you're still you." He says, "But what you've built here, I don't think the Wolf back in my world would be able to do that."

     "Trust me, pup. I'm not telling you this to impress you or make friends. As far as I'm concerned, you're just as much a rival to me as the Fox I've always known. You think I'm helping you get on your feet, getting your ship tuned up and upgraded, all out of the kindness of my heart? Kiddo, you're no fun keeping in check if you aren't able to function at your best." 

     Wolf slaps the tabletop, but not to be loud about it. More a point of emphasis. Whether or not he's telling the truth about why he's helping Fox is up for question. "Well, don't be so sure about that, though," he says in reply to this other Wolf not being able to do what he does. "You- other you went to the Academy on Corneria where you met your best friend, Beltino's son, Slippy. Your pop and a bunch of Cornerian forces, mmh... Dismantled my piracy operation, but it finally gave us a chance to have a real dogfight. This happened in Sector Z; the scraps are still floating around out there. So...our duel was interrupted, yeah? Figured I'd get another chance, but it wasn't meant to be. Around the time I was hired by Doctor Andross due to my, heh, fame -- well, he had Pigma off your pop. And don't you think for a moment I haven't been sour about that." 

     The drinks arrived on a tray at that point, but no payment is made. The tally is made and added to an overall tab. Fox gets his whiskey on the rocks, Wolf gets two pints of dark ale, a glass, a glass of ice, and a bottle of vodka. Wolf grabs a pint first and draws from it before adding, "From what I know, you dropped out of the academy when you heard the news about your dad, made Beltino's kid do the same, and followed in my footsteps instead of following in your father's. Idiot. Took up the name of James' old team, decided to freelance the fight against Andross, I got to test you firsthand finally, and even though you screwed me out of a major paycheck from the good doc at least I felt you could get revenge on Andross for the both of us over your dad." 

     Wait. What?

     The phrase 'your ears must have been burning' are easy to pin to Fionn, given his physical demeanor. Flecks of some dark oil still caught staining his otherwise sandy coating, he strolls into the bar. And there Wolf is, doing what he does best, with the most peculiar and unexpected of company. Well, even if people WERE the type to talk, he wouldn't believe it until he saw it. He shifts data pad from one side to the other and gently clears his throat. "Pardon. I can come back at a... better time." 
     A half smile and nod is given to the eponymous Fox. "... not bringing any more company by chance?"

"Well that's one thing this world's Fox and I have in common then." He says, "Denying you a payday from offing that damn ape." He does grin again, as he picks up his glass, and takes a sip from it, "Not bad." He says, before looking across at the fennec, "Oh. Hey...You must be one of Wolf's crew members."

     "I'm sure there are a lot more similarities than what you realize yet, pup." 

     A finger points over at the fennec fox at seeing and hearing the approach. "There he is. Fionn," states Wolf, the name clearly pronounced 'without' an O. "Nichols here is my head engineer and he's the one that's going to be performing surgery on your Arwing while you stay here, alone, as our guest." If there was any question as to Wolf's feelings on the matter -- you don't mess with Fox unless the boss says so -- it's doubly-said. Again. 

     "You probably already have the details, Nichols, but McCloud wants a full tune-up and refueling. His ship is a bit vintage, but I trust you can install and integrate any upgrades necessary to bring him up to speed without compromising the balance of his on-board systems or changing anything that doesn't have my approval. I know you've wanted to get under the hood of an Arwing fighter for years, so here's your chance." The eye patch-wearing wolf looks over at Fox. 

     "You don't know this, but I've saved your -- the other Fox's -- life a couple times now. Pigma may have been cowardly enough to sabotage your pop's ship, but you have my word that I won't do that to yours." Wolf is as deadly serious about that statement as anybody could ever be.

     There's a smart salute to each in turn even if the younger fox's eyes linger on McCloud for a good long while. "Well, I'm afraid I'm a bit poor in the hospitality department, so I can't do much for your stay. But despite what you might think, I'm up on Corneria protocol. I'll take care of her like she was my own." Wolf would know that he means it. And besides, why would he need to go meddling in that mess of a friendship-slash-rivalry when he has a perfectly good one to spoil of his own? His demeanor calms a bit with the assertion that Fox will be alone, though. 
     "Not a screw out of place. And, yes, we are a chivalrous bunch," he eventually agrees with a grin. "If you don't mind me saying so, sir."

"I have no doubt." Fox says, "Plus if you were going to kill me I'd imagine you'd have done it already, rather than going through some convoluted system of sabotage and such. That's not really your style." Fox says, as he looks over towards the mechanic, "So out of curiosity, how'd you end up working with Wolf? If you don't mind my asking...And 'it's a good paying job' is a fine answer.."

     The rest of the History Lesson will have to wait. The spotlight is shone upon Fionn as both Fox and Wolf looks over toward Nichols when the question is asked. The crooked smile on his grizzled muzzle is exposed for only a moment before it is hidden behind the pint glass so hoisted to be drained. Wolf looks surprisingly relaxed still for having a drink with his long-term nemesis...even if he's from a different universe! 

     In the meanwhile, however, it gives O'Donnell a moment to think about the situation. Either this Fox is genuinely unaware of the connection between him and James from his universe, or his universe really does have a very different set of events that lead to the Great War with Andross against the Cornerian Alliance. At the very least, from what he heard from Krystal (whom is also from this Fox's universe) the Lylat Wars definitely played out the same way. 

     In some ways, it does bother Wolf that this Fox may not be as sharing in turn, but ultimately it's his choice. Wolf being so forthcoming is just a means to help this McCloud adjust and integrate with the Lylat he's now in; the same kind of help he's offering by subcontracting work to him and fixing up his ship. All the better to keep the potential future clashes fairly balanced so that only skill can be the determining factor. 

     At least, that's what Wolf tells himself and everybody else, anyway.

     One history lesson for another, but Fionn's will be perhaps short and sweet. His ears swivel again at the question and he goes still for a moment before a particular warmth crosses his expression. "Why? I mean, I guess I get where you're coming from. Lots of folks think of this as the wrong side of the tracks, I suppose..." 
     The accent has just a bit of the old Papetoon lap in it. "Boss took me in when there wasn't really a place for me. Not that there WAS a lot of places during the Aparoid thing." He rubs at the back of his neck and lets out a little 'e-heh.' "'s good work and plenty of it to go around. Good company, too, for the most part." 
     He glances at Wolf, and back to Fox, and ALMOST winks. "I wouldn't really fit in with aces like yourselves, but this way I get to enjoy the privlege of the company." 
     Yep. That about covers it, unless he decides to press.

"Fair enough." Fox replies, "I'm not gonna pry too much more. I mean it's not really my place, I'm the guest here, not supposed to be interrogating the guy who's fixing my ship." He says, as he takes another drink from his glass, before pouring some more from the bottle, "I feel a bit weird, since everyone here knows me, and I know nobody."

     Nearly completely draining at least one pint of the brew before him, the remaining dark brown liquid sloshes in the glass as Wolf places it down upon the tabletop with a dull thunk. Reaching over himself to the table with the arm furthest away from it, what with how O'Donnell sits partially sideways on the booth seat with a single leg lazily stretched along its length (yet his boot-hidden foot still sticks free from the end), he busies himself with the process of dropping two ice cubes from his glass of ice into the empty one before twisting open the cap on the imported vodka to then pour a measure over that singled-out frozen water. He doesn't bother to replace the cap on the bottle. Instead, Wolf slides it over against the glass of ice with a clinking sound as they make contact. 

     "Be thankful you didn't have to live through that Aparoid mess, Fox. Then again, you wouldn't have made it without my help." Lifting the glass, he emphasizes, "Proven fact," before taking a sip. It's much less having some drinks with Fox and more having drinks at the same table. Wolf uses the activity as a bridge. Fox may be armed and Wolf may not be, but that doesn't seem to be much of a worry. This is likely uncomfortable territory for both McCloud and O'Donnell. The plus side is that few under Wolf's command would dare to question his motivation for doing such; one of the perks of being the boss. 

     "Yeah, I imagine it's rough, pup. It's precisely why I've gone out of my way to offer you resources and opportunities to adjust a bit easier. If the version of me that you know from where you're from is anything at all like me, he's probably going to be heavily investigating your disappearance. Krystal's account of the Saurian crisis differs from what happened here, so I can only hope that your universe didn't get scouted by the Aparoids. Here, about eight years before the civil war with Andross, an Aparoid scout nearly fully destroyed an entire fleet of Cornerian ships. We had no idea it was hinting at real trouble to come nearly two decades later." 

     Then again, Wolf already mentioned to Fox before, in their first 'meeting' on Corneria with Krystal present, that the scars from the invasion were still present across most all of the system's planets. Those events took place only two years ago. "I'll show you some video later, when I show you to your room."

"Sounds like a good plan." Fox muses, as he takes another drink for a moment, "And considering there seems to be a bit of a time difference between our two worlds, mine might be having that invasion soon. Which means I'll want to get back there before that happens." He rubs his muzzle a little bit, "Can't worry abotu that tonight though."

     "Now, I'm not sure how much of this and that would have shaken out the same," Fionn can't help but butt into Wolf's assertions. "I've barely started to wrap my head around this many worlds thing." And he pointedly does NOT want to acknowledge or ask about what the other him might be doing, or if he even exists. For the large part he does not offer much more in the way of dissent, rubbing at the back of his head again. In an odd place of 'not invited, not uninvited' and he shoots Wolf a brief look of inquery before gesturing to Fox again. 
     "No better way to do that than spend a few rounds in here. Looks like you're already getting a head start, huh?"

     "I mean, I could do you one better and help you against the Aparoids with knowledge that took us nearly a year to learn, but..." 

     Wolf seems to find something about the notion amusing. "You see, those events help you to realize a lot about me. About...the other me. And if I just hand you the solution..." O'Donnell lifts a hand and wiggles it a bit in the air before taking another large sip of liquor. "It would just make life for the other me even more of a pain, I'm sure. Although, I suppose I could be convinced to help you with the invasion thing, if and when the time comes. Maybe." 

     A one-eyed glance is passed over at Fionn before gesturing to the booth seats. There are places to sit. Either mind to not sit on his leg (Wolf has no intention of moving) or ask Fox to share the padded bench, or so is implied along with a flash of a toothy grin as if double-daring the fennec fox. "No reason needed to drop by here, I say, but...hey. I figured getting a drink or three into McCloud here might keep him from being too twitchy around my boys. After all, that Arwing job is going to take a while." 

     Wolf turns to look across the table to Fox, though, and adds, "By the way, there's a gym if you want to work out. Can even reserve it for yourself and nobody will bother you. Except maybe me. You've got a solid punch, at least."

Fox scoots over to enable the seat to have enough room, "I'm sure that I don't need to do that. I have a feeling nobody is going to defy your orders and attack me." Fox says, "And even if they do, I can taake care of myself just fine." He says, with a bit of a grin back towards Wolf, before he finishes off his drink again, "You've shown me enough that I'll trust you at least."

     Only Wolf would perhaps recognize a small spark of pleasure at the assent, and he dips his head in a sort of courtesy not really associated with his station before hopping into the spot adjacent. Thus, Wolf is greeted with the sight of two foxes sitting across and asconse. "Aye, but there are other perks to privacy, especially when you don't always have the chance." He smiles and raises a hand. "Who knows WHAT goes on now that we've entered into this particular relationship. No, what's going on might be bigger than any of our histories, though..." 
     He scratches his ear in a way to suggest, 'what a headache all that is.' Then nods. "We've got our work shifts, but frankly I still find it a bit more amiable than the academy."

     "Well, that's cute of you to say." 

     For a lingering moment, Wolf simply stares into his glass of cold vodka after commenting such of Fox's last statement before finishing the drink off. The middle-aged mercenary inhales deeply, slowly, before letting it all out in a prolonged sigh. That cyclopean stare angles down at the table's surface for a while as it seems that Wolf might trying to think of what to say next. It's not that he isn't social. It's just- Well, it's Fox McCloud. That this much is being said is some sort of miracle. 

     "Anyway..." There's a pause and Wolf reaches over to put a hand on his other pint of ale, but he ponders for a moment and then slowly pushes it over to the other side of the table. Is he offering it to Fox? Or Fionn? "Andross' remaining army grouped up underneath my leadership in the wake of the war, along with the remaining pirates from my old operation. This station became a real hotbed of criminal scum, so I stepped in and relieved them of the burden of command." In other words, there was a massive fight aboard the station to take it over. Spoken like a true pirate? "I've been organizing the system's worst ever since. We...lost a number of Andross's soldiers in Andrew's attack on Corneria, that wanted to follow under the Andross banner still, and that was just before the invasion hit, but we've recovered since then." 

     "Gained a number of new recruits, too. Some more talented than others. Like the kiddo here." There's a gesture to the fennec before Wolf pours himself some more vodka and adds another ice cube. A cursory glance jabs in McCloud's direction. "Always a permanent spot for you, if you ever decide to finally acknowledge I'm better than you." Wolf already offered Fox a place amongst the ranks of Star Wolf, after all, so this is just a verbal nudge at Fox's pride and it's entirely to be expected, even if it's, well, playfully derisive. 

     "After all, the other you and his team of mercs are going to take an interest in you sooner or later if you keep operating with the same team name. You...just might find it more tolerable to work with me than yourself, but, let me tell you, pup-" Wolf tips that glass up for a heavy sip which elicits a small grimace before a sharp exhalation. "Nnh. I'd just love to see you meeting yourself. Pretty sure Fionn would buy a ticket to that show, too. Eh? But...Nichols has the right of it. There are things brewing far above all this crap we've been through or will be going through." And, following in thought, Maybe that's why I care. 

     Some things are best left unspoken.

"If he's really like you describe I'd probably punch him in the jaw." For replies to Wolf, before going back to his drink, "I do have a request though, Fionn." Fox says, "When you're working on my Arwing, like you said, bringing it up to modern specs, I'd like you to try to keep the controls as...Close to how they are currently. It's taken years to get them just right I'd hate to start over.."

     Fionn takes the offered drink that Fox does not and picks it up. A WHOLE PINT for the shorty fennec. Most of a pint. "Hah. That I'd like to see." He jerks a thumb over. "You're going to notice a difference in the way she handles. More responsive, smoother sailing and all that. You're going to have to get used to the tune-up thing. If I have to crossthread something to get your manuals to work... that's doable. And if you feel like giving me a REAL challenge, you know where to find me." 
     The smaller fox laughs and shakes his head. "I have a ship, too, and I know the feeling. Nothing weird, on my granma's honor."

     Wolf's gaze sticks on that glass of ale in wonder of which of the two might claim it first. Honestly, it's an open offering and it's just one pint of a dark nine-percenter. It's not like he's trying to get anybody drunk. It's not exactly the time for that kind of mischief. Fionn takes up the challenge, though, which is exactly what was expected. 

     Fingers gripping the top lip of the glass with his chilled vodka, O'Donnell slowly turns the vessel one way then another, in place, as he nods along. "Trust me, Fox -- and I know how difficult a thing that is to say as much as hear -- but there are some events going on regarding this...construct our worlds are, eh, connected to? Things mostly unspoken, but there are feelings, rumors, whispers. I dunno how to best put it, but I get around. I hear things. My contacts hear things." 

     The glass is lifted and Wolf regards the condensation forming on the outside and watches, with his right eye, as a single drop slowly beads, falls a short distance, gathers more water, falls a little further, pauses, and then rushes downward to fall onto his lap. 

     "You are the second-best pilot that I know of still alive. I also know you put most of the Cornerian Elite Infantry to shame. You still have a lot of growing up to do, but the fact you're sitting here and accepting help from me rather than petitioning Pepper for help in the face of massive confusion regarding your double from this dimension says a lot. About you." That purple eye jumps from glass to Fox as he says this, perhaps stroking his own ego a bit in the implication, but drinks his remaining vodka without actually saying anything to the effect of which he infers. 

     "I want your ship up to specs and you combat ready -- given some time to get used to your Arwing after its tune-up -- just in case your guns are needed." There is an unspoken mixture of anger, frustration, and respect reflecting in Wolf's good eye at saying this. He's fully expecting this act to bite him in the tail down the road if Fox decides, much like the Fox he knows, to interfere with some of his jobs that are, well, not entirely legal. Especially so when there are counter-jobs because of it. "And Fionn here can handle half of that. The other half, mm... You look like you're getting a bit soft, pup. You should hit the gym later."

"What sort of danger do you think you're going to face that'll need me?" Fox asks of Wolf, as he looks over to Fionn again for a second, "I dunno if it's your face or the fact that Wolf has taken you under his wing, but I trust you." He grins towards the other fox for a second, before he takes another sip from his drink, "I'm going to need to check out this gym of your's though, Wolf. If it's full service. Do you have a spa? It's been way too long since I had a pedicure." That last part, he's probably joking. Probably.

     "It's a wide wide world..." Fionn remarks quietly, flicking his claws against his glass. "Bad enough seeing what crawls out of the woodwork when you've got just one cosmos to worry about..." Chuff and chug, then he wipes his face with his arm and grins toothily. "But on the other hand, we get the privlege of meeting folks like you, so maybe this whole show has its upsides, huh?" 
     A pause, a defferant look to Wolf with regards to the spa. 'Do you want to tell him?' He seems to imply with the swish of his ears before finally responding, "it's the face." Another drink, and a smile. "Flattering."

     O'Donnell doesn't even allow for a moment of silence to pass before he spits out a reply to Fox, possibly cutting off Fionn at first. "You go around talking about spas and pedicures and you might attract Leon's attention, not to mention completely skewing the reputation you have in this dimension, but, hey, if that's your thing I'll have to disappoint you." 

     After Fionn speaks, Wolf continues. "While your heart may be broken and your hopes let down, I will remind you that this is a Venomian station. We have plumbing and water reclamation, so there are showers there in the gym. Some quarters even have private bathrooms, but only a few. I'll be courteous enough to treat you just like everybody else on this station, but don't think you'll get any special treatment just because you're James' kid." 

     Serious tone aside, Wolf dumps the remaining ice from the ice cup into the vodka glass, then stacks the vodka glass inside the other now-empty one. Pushing this glass aside, he begins to sit up, swiveling into a proper forward position, and grabs the vodka bottle that is still uncapped and takes a swig directly from it. 

     "But to answer your other question, Fox? It's not about me needing you specifically. It's about you being able to perform at top capacity when matters take place that concern you directly." The hand holding that bottle points an index finger at McCloud with a light bobbing motion. "And they will. My universe or not, you're still Fox McCloud." ...and Wolf always seems to go out of his way to help Fox. "And that means keeping you at the top of your game and alive until the time comes to finally show you who the better one is." 

     It's not that Fionn doesn't exist; even Fionn knows better at this point that when McCloud is around, the boss tends to be rather...tunnel-visioned. The bottle touches the tabletop and Wolf leans in forward over the table's surface. His build, his height, and his seated posture -- even without the tough biker-styled clothes he enjoys wearing -- speaks of a measure of imposition. His good eye focuses sharply on his rival. 

     "...so don't waste what I'm offering by disappointing me."

"Easy Wolf, it's a joke." Fox replies, grinning again as he takes another drink, finishing it off and setting down the glass, "I'll be honest though, Wolf. I don't know how the other you, the one I knew before i met you, kept making it out alive. I never held back against him, and don't think I'll hold back against you just because you're being nice." See, Fox can be serious too, "But I don't want to ruin this nice time we're having with business."

     If there's one place Fionn knows not to stick his nose, it's between Wolf and Fox. Though he does elbow the vulpine to the side of him and grin. Not tense at all, right? That's just how Wolf gets when, well... how Wolf gets. "You wanna test each other, I'm sure you'll get the chance. I'll be well outta the way as long as there isn't booze involved..."

     ...don't think I'll hold back against you just because you're being nice. 

     This is exactly the kind of statement Wolf was fishing for and it is, for all of his posturing, entirely expected, although 'nice' isn't the word he'd use himself. Mildly hospitable? Sure. Congenial? Only barely. Nice? But then, Fox uses the same word yet again regarding the moment altogether, drinking together, while discussing basic business regarding Fox's very visit to Wolf's home. 

     ...nice time we're having... 

     Sometimes Wolf is a bit dense or altogether stubborn, so sometimes he misses context. It doesn't happen often, but for a moment, just then, Wolf's good eye searches McCloud for some indication of sarcasm or hint that the flyboy is implying irony in the witticism. When he doesn't immediately detect any, though, O'Donnell leans back, back pressed against the padding of the booth behind him, and quietly lowers his gaze to the vodka bottle resting upon the table still in his hand. 

     Wolf O'Donnell stares at the bottle of vodka and remains silent.

"Yeah, of course." Fox says, "Plus, I mean...Now might not be the time. I mean, get a few drinks in me, I'll end up getting sloppy and nobody wants that." He glances back over at Fionn and hmms, "I suppose if Wolf wants you to hit the gym and you need a spotter I'd be willing to help out. You know, try to better bridge the gap between myself and the people on this station. I want them to know that I'm not the Fox they know."

     A dusty-tail goes Swish and Fionn gives an amused look. "I d'nno. There's work and then there's play. If the boss is busy, I don't mind spotting, either..." The gearfox gives a little flex. Despite all those edges he's still military-trained, he supposes. "Anyone gives you crap, well, I doubt it'll be more than a good ribbing. They know whose station this is too." Side-glance to the suddenly silent Wolf. An empty glass slides back across the table and he clears his throat. 
     "These are strange damn times. Strange as they might get. May as well keep the familiar the familiar... keep our feet on the ground, so to speak." Fionn nods. "M'think you can sort out that reputation quick enough, Fox." A beat, and a toothy grin. "Though we may want to get you nametags."

     "Not a bad idea." 

     Wolf finally speaks, although he does this while sliding out of the booth seat to stand. The major plus is that the mind-reader Krystal isn't present. "Tell you what: We'll head up on the lift, you can see on which deck the Gym is located where Fionn hops out, and then I'll...take you to the room where you'll be staying." Notably, he keeps a hold on that bottle of liquor. 

     One pint and a good four large shots of vodka in him over such a short period of sitting is enough to give the big guy the faintest wobble. He's buzzed. Just. But, he needs it. "That way you can see where you'll be bunking and can bring stuff from your ship, if you need, and meet up with Nichols here at the Gym afterward." Wolf's voice is low and his shoulders mildly droop. No, there's more than just an alcohol-fueled buzz at play here. 

     Wolf seems somewhat disarmed. It is extraordinarily uncharacteristic.

"Yeah sounds like a plan. May need to call it a night soon anyway, it was a bit of a flight to get here." Fox says, as he looks to Fionn, so the other fox can slide out of the booth and let Fox up, "Hey Wolf, you ever wonder why our parents named us after our species?" He asks, kind of out of the blue, "I mean it's not like my dad was unoriginal or anything so I guess I'm just curious about it and just drunk enough to think about it."

"And if you ever feel like stopping by someone else's bunk, you're going to have to ask for directions," Fionn throws onto that with a short bark. He hops out of the chair, giving a glance to both his betters before stretching his arms. Not-even-a-mug is going to take a while to kick in, so he's not showing it yet. "Boss? Dunno about you but I've got a garage full of ship that needs getting done before I play. You think you could, I dunno, keep up the hospitality?" Point, point. "Actually. None of us are sober enough to be around kilos of raw iron. So... don't make me call the doctor on you." 
     Sargasso probably has an infirmary, too. Fionn flits his ears and when Fox asks he just.. breaks down in full gut laughter.

     "We'll...go visit your pop's old house on Papetoon later. Well, not yours, but, well, it might be close enough to find some of the answers you're looking for." Wolf says this without looking over. He has been keeping secrets regarding James, even from the Fox he knows, and the fact that this fox is from a different reality is just enough of an impersonal edge that he seems willing to share a few. After all, it's not as if this World's Fox has ever asked. Sometimes- no. Oftentimes, asking is the hardest part of finding answers. 

     Wolf tips up that bottle of clear booze to drain a little more -- wait, that was a full 'fifth' at first, so why is only a third remaining? "I'll pay for this later, and, mmh, sure. Gym later, then. Whatever works, Nichols. You're a loyal kid. Keep that level head." 

     Gesturing with a hand for Fox to follow, the notorious Space Pirate takes a few steps toward the exit. He's a bit shaky, but there is no more wobbling. "Come on, pup. I'll give you the point-oh-oh-one credit tour on the way."

"Sounds like a plan...I don't remember where the place is, only the place on Corneria.." Fox replies, before motioning for Wolf to lead the way to his quarters. He figures he'll be spending some itme here, maybe even after the ship is repaired, so he may as well get used to the layout.

     "All right. Yeah." O'Donnell takes a few shaky steps toward the exit and there is no doubt that a number of eyes from other quiet bar patrons turn to fall upon the three. This is where Fox and Wolf part ways with Fionn for now, however. Understandable, really, with the kind of job the fennec has before him atop the normal upkeep of the ships and station altogether. 

     "Not sure how well even my Fox knows about it or visits, but it's there. On Papetoon. Old family home. Not super large." Wolf adds, a bit quieter, "A lot of history there." A lightly glazed look is passed over his shoulder at Fox as he leads the way to the lift and presses the panel to call it. That look lingers a bit before the hand holding that bottle of vodka (he never bothered to grab the cap) points at McCloud. "I don't know. Things could be totally different where you're from." 

     A lazy shrug follows. "I mean, I didn't have this, eh, weird 'thing' because of Krystal's double. ...it's hard to explain." The tall lupine shakes his head a bit, although that makes him wobble some where he stands. "It's like I'm not sure how mad I should be at you and I'm digging to try to find something to justify how much I'd like to really hurt you." Drunken honesty can be a scary thing, especially when there's no overt malice to be heard in what is admitted. 

     "And I guess... Part of me wants things to be different enough that I can tell you that-" The lift doors open as if to interrupt that thought before it is finished. Wolf immediately stops talking and turns to muse at the anti-grav personnel lift's promptness. "Huh. That was fast. We'll, uh, go up to your room and I'll show you the Gym later."

"Sure, show me this room...Maybe give me a digital map so I can find my way around." He holds up his left arm so Wolf can see the little screen on his wrist, "I can navigate my way around as needed. Though of course, I'll finish the tour."

     Wolf boards the lift with a practiced motion. There's no telling how many times he's done this very act over the years. A one-eyed glance is given to the wrist display and he lightly...chuckles? "Well, that's cute," he comments, although whether it is something genuine on the appearance of Fox's toy or sarcastic on the notion of just handing over a full map of the station to one of the top five people in the system that shouldn't have it is up for debate. 

     Thankfully, the lift does not have any form of music playing in it during a ride. The only sounds made are the hum of the anti-grav and the whirr and click of the docking mechanics between and at each deck. "We'll get you squared away, pup. I'll make sure you know where things are that are important for you to know. I don't think I need to explain what'll happen if I catch you snooping around places you shouldn't be." 

     The lift keeps moving upward. The display panel shows that basic barracks (one deck of barracks included a note on the Gymnasium's presence, and another the Infirmary) were passed a few decks back. Finally, though, the lift slows and stops and the doors open. Panther Caluroso stands there awaiting the lift himself. The dark-furred feline regards McCloud and O'Donnell in turn with a raised eyebrow while stepping to the side to allow them to exit. Lightly sniffing a rose, the scar-faced cat simply smiles. 

     "Well, this is a sight. Shall I send a bottle of rose' wine up to your room, Wolf?" the velvet-tongued Panther quips. 

     Sighing, Wolf rolls his eye. "He's going to be staying in the suite," comes the dry response." Panther's expression changes drastically at this revelation, more shocked than humored. 

     Wolf leads the way out into the hall past Panther for Fox as Caluroso boards after, then adds, "But isn't that the same one where-" 

     He doesn't get a chance to finish speaking. Wolf reaches over to push the panel to close the doors. "Good talk. Bye."

"I see he doesn't change no matter what universe we're in." Fox quips, though he gives a bit of a head tilt when he hears that last ine and then Wolf cuts him off, "I'm starting to wonder if I should be scared or intrigued." Fox says, wondering aloud to Wolf as he follows behind him, "And fine, maybe not a whole map, but I'm sure I can find at least whatever is publically available."

     The moment Fox mentions being unsure how to feel about this apparent room in question, Wolf brightens up a bit. "Good!" The hand not holding that bottle of vodka reaches over to possibly invade Fox's personal space for what might be a successful slap on the back. "Come on, pup. It's not far from here. I'll handle the map thing. So needy." The flash of a toothy grin on Wolf's face as he heads down one of the halls might be further cause for concern. 

     He points out a few doors on the way, although this deck is smaller than the ones further below. "That's Panther's room. That's Andrew's old room. That one used to be Pigma's. Took a whole fumigation team to that one, ha. Over there is Leon's. We haven't run into him because he's away on a contract right now, but he'll be back soon enough. Enjoy the peace while you can." A thumb is passed to another door eventually. "Mine." For a single word, it's said very possessively. He then stops in front of the door and reaches for the panel to open it! Only, instead, he pulls his hand away and continues walking. "Just kidding. It's the one further around. Were you worried?" The grizzled mercenary tips that bottle up to finish...it...off. Oh. That explains it. 

     The last door, a red one, comes into view. The other doors weren't red.

Fox makes a mental note of which door belongs to which of Wolf's pilots, and then pauses for a second when they get to Wolf's own door. He's admittedly glad Wolf isn't going to make him a roommate. Fox does look at the final door, the red one, and takes a good intent look at it, "I know we're supposed to be relatively trusting each other but we're sure this isn't an airlock, right?"

     Wolf O'Donnell takes a moment to lean in beside the door, arm outstretched to brace against the wall in doing so, lending him a moment and position to gesture to the door and the rooms that await within. "Airlock. Ha ha. Oh, trust me, I've been waiting for this day for ages. I mean, you aren't the Fox I know from around here, but, eh, I'll suppose you'll have to do, heh heh heh. You'll be pleased to know you won't be sharing a room with anybody and we didn't have to push anybody out to make room for your stay. I didn't want to put you on the main crew quarters decks because I'd rather lessen the threat of fights and keep stress low. So, here you go, Fox." The cycloptic wolf swings his arm across to press the panel to open the door. "Your second home at Star Wolf HQ." 

     The doors open to reveal a magnificent suite. Opening hallway, main living area, doors connecting to other rooms such as a bathroom, a bedroom, and a small dining area. There is no kitchen equipment; food would have to be brought by hand or delivered. The floors are lined with a cozy plush carpet and the living area has multiple monitors and a computer station that would be at home in a science lab. Everything is clean and the conditions are, compared to the rest of the spartan station, absolutely luxurious, but who of Star Wolf would be so high maintenance as to have this level of comfort? 

     Nobody. 

     This room existed long before Star Wolf took over. 

     "Go in, have a look around, tell me what you think. It's supposedly cursed, but I didn't think you'd let that bother you." Wolf is extremely amused. His stare is predatory and his sharp grin is downright diabolic.

Speachless is a good way to put how Fox is feeling right now. He walks in and looks around, "I don't even know what to say, Wolf. How the hell does this place even exist?" He is still awestruck. He looks around hte suite, taking in everything he can, "This makes my quarters on the Great Fox look like a broom closet." He muses, as he goes into the restroom to peek around, "Cursed how?" He finally asks.

     Wolf remains perched at the threshold of the door as Fox goes in and has a look around. The bathroom itself has a spacious shower designed to house even large occupants, has water spouts at angles, from straight above, and to the sides -and- it has its own heated water supply. Furthermore, the showering cabinet has blow dry functionality to quickly and thoroughly dry one's pelt after bathing. The toilet, much like most, has a few different configurations of seating accoutrements to suit the needs of various sizes. The wash basin has a waterfall-styled faucet. Seriously. 

     Hinged on the precipice between serious demeanor and a descent in hilarity, O'Donnell nearly loses himself in drunken laughter at Fox's reaction to the size of the place. "Oh, I thought you might like it, pup." However, the linchpin question is posited before Wolf. In turn, the leader of the outlaw gang waves a hand dismissively. 

     "Oh, that? That's all garbage. Rumors and stories of bad things that happened to people that used this room, starting with the fate of the one who designed it for himself. None of the old scum that were here actually touched the thing; they came up with all kinds of crap and everybody just stayed away. Some of it carried over to my boys, but the quarters on this deck are for my wingmen, chiefs of staff, and VIPs. You..." Wolf sniggers. "You pretty much are the definition of a VIP around here. So: There you go! Glad you like it. Make yourself at home." 

     Reaching into the room, O'Donnell points to the panel near the door. "You can lock it here, nobody will bother you, although, technically, I can still override it. Heh! The computer terminal there should have a welcome message to you that most all of our guests receive including a basic map and directory. Copy it as you see fit. ...see? And here you were worried you'd get all lost." 

     Wolf slaps the wall near the door and pushes away with a turn. "Anyway, I'm very much drunk now, so I better go before I invite myself in. You can use the terminal to send messages, as well, to whomever has an assigned ID on the station. They -will- know it's you. Have fun. Get some rest, or something to eat. Whatever." He lifts a hand to wave. 

     "It's not everyday you get to stay in Andross' old room, Fox." The laughing jerk slowly reaches over to press the panel and shut the door.

Fox listens to Wolf, as he looks around, picking out some of the various things around. Until he hears Wolf's words, "Wait, what?!" Before he can say anything else the door closes, leaving him alone in the room that used to belong to his most hated enemy. Well crap.