World Tree MUSH

There are a lot of planets in this universe. Some of them are really pleasant. This one? This one isn't, and this particular city is rather generally known as, to be blunt, a wretched hive of scum and villainy. The desert wind blows dust into the streets and blows a good chunk of it right over a young human female who is *clearly* not dressed for this environment. The twin suns that beat down only make it all worse.

     Incoming and outgoing traffic to and from the planet's surface is an undying facet of what paints the city as such a hub. Three unique vessels approach and land, each being gray and black and red, very angular parts, and seeming to only be large enough for a single pilot. The sound the engines make is a little different from the whine of the others, but not enough to mark them as being from a different World altogether. 

     After a bit of bargaining over docking fees and security (anybody trying to break into those Wolfen ships are going to be in for a nasty surprise), the three pilots exit the designated hangar (out of nearly 400 in total) and are greeted with harsh blowing sands. There is a wolf man, a panther man, and a lizard man. 

     "Two suns in the sky, heh. Almost feels like being on Papetoon," comments the cat person in a flashy flight suit embossed with a rose on the chest. 

     "Remarkably less foxes around, though. Bet that's a disappointment, eh Cap'n?" quips the lizard with a sharp grin and a far more sleek flight suit. 

     "That's enough," delivers the wolf that wears not a flight suit but leathers and metal studs and spikes of bikerpunk fashion. "We need to dig for information. Let's designate a place to meet up."

The young woman purses her lips. She's been on desert worlds before, and she needs...hrm. She moves over to some stalls. She doesn't have money, but maybe she can work something out. She's examining a cloak she could pull over her unsuitable clothing. Especially the black jacket. A small group of jawas chitter past and she turns to look at them.

     The trio of nonhuman folk likely blend in fairly well considering the menagerie of species and races found in this World's galaxy. They talk amongst themselves as they wander the dusty roads. For not wearing hoods or gear to protect from the sandy breeze, they seem less bothered by it all, for some reason. A thumb gets pointed toward a cantina. "Seems as good a spot as any," says the 'Cap'n'. "Let's meet back in forty-two units' time. Everybody has their shopping list." 

     Glances are passed between the three in quiet acknowledgment before splitting apart. The cat man takes a hands-on social approach in asking around for what he needs. The lizard takes to the alleyways. The one left, the wolf, wanders down the streets to look over the kiosks and stalls...as much as the various peoples and beasts abound...and pauses as a group of meter-tall robed figures make their way just in front of his path crossing the walkway.

Ace finally shakes her head. There's some talk about credits. The stallholder seems to be getting a little angry. Glancing around, she notices the wolf, but doesn't realize yet that he doesn't belong here any more than she does.

     The wolf person, who apparently only has one eye if the eye patch means anything, squints a little at the jawas as they pass and is distracted enough that he doesn't immediately take note of the figure that bumps into him. This isn't an accident by any means and is a common tactic for pickpockets no matter the tech level of the world visited. While a hand may find its way into a vest pocket to grab a small datapad, the imposingly tall lupine figure is just quick enough to spin about the opposite direction to catch the thief by the arm. 

     "Barely through a Vine and already the local wildlife tests my patience. Give me back my datapad, pup, or I'll take your arm off to get it back myself."

Ace winces a bit. "I'd do as he says," the human says, an accent Wolf probably doesn't recognize (nor does anyone here). "I think he might mean it." She studies the wolf some more. Hrm. Smells of space pirate, to her honestly fairly discerning eye.

     The gray and white-furred wolfman manages a rather iron grip on that forearm despite the jerking and tugging that ensues from the hooded pickpocket. This is put up with for a short while before the wolf's claws aim to dig in to that hold with a jerking tug of his own in retaliation and threat. This results in a yelp of pain that has the stolen item thrust back toward its owner. 

     So snatched away, that arm is released -- with a toothy snarl -- lending to the thief toppling to the side onto the ground before scrambling to get away. The fuzzy person's ears lower a bit as he sighs and tucks the pad away before finally wandering over to look at the goods at the stall where McShane potentially negotiates over clothing prices amidst watching the local street performance entertainment. O'Donnell sighs. 

     "About the kind of welcome I anticipated. Not sure why I would have expected anything less."

"Rough planet, it seems," is the response from the human. No, her accent is definitely not local. "Hot one, too." Probably because of the extra sun. Worlds in binary systems tend to be on the warm side.

     "Rough? Heh. Aren't they all?" 

     O'Donnell's own voice has a low rumble to it. Probably a smoker...and a drinker. "Definitely hot, though. And dirty. Pretty much a cosmic copy of Papetoon," he adds, although the name could be a misunderstanding of the actual name of the planet being visited presently. "Almost easy to forget, looking past the colorful array of locals, but those stars in the sky aren't the right colors." The leather-clad lupine points at the sky through the sandy wind and dry skies to the two stellar orbs visible before dropping that hand and offering it for...a shake? "Name's Wolf O'Donnell. You from here?"

"Not remotely," the young woman says. "From...well, never mind, a long way away. Name's Ace." No last name given. She does shake hands, though.

     "Ace, huh?" Wolf's large hand has a very firm grip and the gloves worn offer an extra layer of texture to the gestured greeting. "You must be a good pilot if they call you that," remarks he. It's a little silly to ask if people are pilots around a spaceport, after all, since it's nearly an assumed given. 

     "Well, I'm not from around here, either. This does seem the kind of place to attract Outworlders; I imagine it can chew them up and spit them out, too. Not sure if the people here prefer to trade through money or through fists more. What's your take?"

"Still working that out." She doesn't correct the man's guess that she's a pilot. Far too much fun to let him make false assumptions about her. "It's something of a backwater, so my guess is, well, both."

     "Yeah. I was hoping that was the case. That's why I brought both." There's a pause before Wolf adds, "At least, I'm hoping they trade in the currencies I have." Now, O'Donnell has access to many currencies. Not all of his assets are invested in Cornerian Credits, Standard. If all else fails, well, at least fists are universal, though it's a tender that many prefer to not deal with. 

     Attention is turned from Ace to the stall and vendor nearby. Depending on the direction of the wind, being downwind of Wolf, Ace should notice, results in a lot less sand to deal with. It can't just be because of his size as a meatshield to it, right? "Looking to blend in?" Wolf is rather hands-on. He's quite forward in investigating the material of the cloaks being sold, looking over the thickness, porousness, and stitching...as applicable. A discerning purple eye attempts to conclude whether the clothier did a good job or if it's an utter rip-off.

"Looking not to get heat exhaustion. I need to cover up," Ace admits. She's been on worlds like this, after all, many times before.

     "Well, I don't know that you want this crap, then," says O'Donnell of the cloak in hand while staring at the potentially angry vendor with his good eye. "If you're going to hawk goods out here in this dirty air, at least make it worth our time and money. It's bad for your business to make a bad name for yourself with this kind of quality. I'd say it's only reasonable that you give this woman a discount not only as an apology, but as a gesture of goodwill as offering business to new arrivals." 

     Wolf O'Donnell is by no means Panther Caluroso. He lacks the silver tongue of the hitman con artist. Rather, Wolf's tone and angle is as an aggressive businessman, although there's certainly an edge there that most upstanding folks might find more than disconcerting. Ace has already picked up on this, no doubt: being a furry alien amongst a city full of aliens (some fuzzy, too), Wolf wears his predatory nature on his nonexistent sleeve.

Ace tilts her head slightly. She instantly recognizes an expert haggler (something she isn't THAT highly skilled at) at work. Now she's doing a quick study of the...well, wolf. Or whatever species he actually is. Him actually being a wolf wouldn't cross her mind. After all, she can see four different kinds of alien from here. Find him disconcerting? Not hardly. She seems far more relaxed in his presence than most.

     What follows could wind up resulting in a trade of currency after all, although which of the two brought are used might be entirely up to the vendor. Then again, the rough nature exposed could very well just be a bluff in the guise of a good hustle. Honestly, in this World, it is a very Dark-aligned practice mixed in with the trade and experience of some of the galaxy's smugglers and underworld denizens. 

     This likely allows Ace a chance to get a really good look at the middle-aged mercenary. Sure, he's hairy, dresses in spiky leather, and holds himself with confidence, but that's all obvious. Beyond the obvious, though, there are the scars the line the male alien's face, exposed arms, and, well, there's at least a chunk out of the side of one of his ears. He uses his arms and hands to gesture when speaking to make a point, confronting the vendor, but his motions are disciplined and not wild. He never overextends to easily place a wrist in range of another where he would lack the leverage to quickly counter. He is quite muscular beneath the scarred pelt, showing daily exercise to maintain the physique. Otherwise, he shows little hint of emotion beyond points where hints of humor or anger punctuate what is being said. 

     Whatever manner of beast he is haggling away over a cloak at a kiosk on the street on a planet very similar to one he knows well, this Wolf O'Donnell fellow seems confident and relaxed...even in the face of only just encountering a pickpocket. His strongarm display regarding the thief and immediate use of pain to provide negative reinforcement might say even more about him overall. 

     "So, really, your choices are to either make a show of good faith and respectful business in order to enhance your image as a decent businessperson, or you can refuse a bit of minor generosity and show the rest of the city just what you think of the Outworlders trying to do business with you. I'm sure your competitors will appreciate one over the other."

"Outworlders," the vendor snorts, but his eyes flick over Ace. "Still, she looks human enough." And it seems like he's going to back down on the haggling...but there's a hint there, a hint that being human is better here. Ace, for her part, is not going to confirm or deny her species...

     Instead of pressing the subject further, O'Donnell turns at the waist and uses both arms to gesture in case of point to Ace herself. Wolf has experience with humans since his world connected with the World Tree, but the people from his star system have extensive contact with others nearby in their galaxy, too, so the exposure to new life forms is not all that jarring. Rather, the point is made, the subject in question is the one that wants a bit of sun protection, and so, in turn, it falls upon Ace to seal the deal or break it. Or...just distract the vendor long enough for Wolf to knick one of the things. He can totally do that, too. "Fine. Prove me wrong, then."

"I don't think," Ace said wryly, "They like your kind here." Mental note, if she acquires anything else here, go with an alien vendor. Just to be petty. Still, she'll seal the deal on a light beige cape that easily fits over her existing clothing.

     At the shared observation from Ace, O'Donnell laughs. He just...laughs. It's not dry, it's not faked, it's honest laughter. But, well, it's a bit dark. "Kitten," says Wolf as Ace gets herself something to help out with the heat while he casually shrugs. "About ninety percent of the people I meet don't like my kind anywhere." Without being overly dramatic and in a way that is far too casual to be anything but a well-practiced gesture, this Wolf guy reaches into his vest, withdraws a small energy blaster, and aims it at the vendor. 

     "The problem is that people discriminate for the wrong reasons and that blinds them from the real dangers involved," he explains. "I was standing right over there in plain sight and within full earshot of everybody when I very seriously mentioned dismemberment to a simple thief, and my species is more important in a discussion of prices?" Oh, sure, this could totally invite trouble. A side-glance is given to the vendor, although the gaze is more eyepatch than eye. "You idiot. I'm the leader of Star Wolf; an organization of mercenaries and pirates spanning many many worlds, star systems, dimensions, and time lines. I'm owed an apology...and I will have it." The sound of the blaster's capacitor charging makes an audible whine.

Oh dear. Unfortunately, the vendor doesn't know what Star Wolf is. Neither does Ace, but she has an inkling. "Let's...not trigger anything with the authorities?" She has a hunch this is a bad idea, and it might well be one of *those* hunches. Unfortunately, she doubts the wolf will listen to her. "Then again, this doesn't seem like a place for cops, now, does it." The storekeeper swallows. He quails. "I apologize." That's...good. Ace shakes her head.

     No fuss. No muss. At least the fuzzy grizzled fellow seems to be good for his word, or at least has some sort of noble code. He puts his gun away just as nonchalantly as it was pulled out. "Hey, I came here to do some shopping," explains Wolf while pressing a hand to his muscleshirt-clad chest. "If I wanted to go on a thievery spree, I could, but I prefer to make business acquaintances when visiting new places, if I can. Doesn't always work out." This is all spoken to Ace. However, O'Donnell turns his head to look toward the vendor. 

     "I mean, would you do business with me?" The toothy grin that follows is done purely in emphasis of the dangerous air he intends to present. "Because, heh, I could use somebody that works the streets, that hears things, and seems to be a prejudiced bigot on the outside while reporting to me for profits greater than anything you'll earn tossing out haggled deals to just anybody that looks 'safe' that passes by."

The vendor swallows. "Can I...think about it?" Ace shakes her head, looking slightly amused, although she IS wondering how much of the wolf's behavior is bark and how much is impending bite.

     There's a blinking flutter of Wolf's good eye -- his right one -- as he passes an equally amused glance toward Ace before following up with a solid, "Sure. You do that." Chances are, O'Donnell figures, that the vendor might run off to tell on him to a cartel and he'll have yet more resistance to deal with. He's not overly worried. "But, seriously. Can you get some better crap to sell, at least? Not fancy. Just- Eh." 

     Wolf turns away with a dismissive wave of the hand. "You get something worthwhile out of this?" is asked of the...new cape owner?

"A bit of a lesson in how things work around here." She puts the hood up enough to shade herself, but not enough to hide her face. "This is definitely a fringe world."

     "Yeah. Definitely a lot like Papetoon. I'm sure I'll get along just fine." The lupine man reaches into his vest again, but this time it's not for his hidden gun. No, he withdraws a pack of cigarettes stamped with a Lylatian guarantee of quality and taps one free that he can grab with his thin lips. "And heck, you blend right in now. Congratulations. Glad I could help." Help get a better price or help attract attention so that Ace was less noticeable by comparison? Either way? He puts the smokes away and feels around for his lighter. "Now, where did I put the..."

Ace doesn't smoke, so can't help with a lighter. She does glance around to see if there's one on the ground...even highly skilled mercs have things fall out of their pockets sometimes.

     A systematic process of elimination is underway as Wolf checks one vest pocket, then another, then an inside vest pocket, and then a front pants pocket, then another, and th- "Ah." He pulls the object out, but it's just a pocket heater. His ears briefly go flat in annoyance. "I know that little creep didn't take it." Tucking the inactive heater away, Wolf pulls the cigarette from his mouth and also looks around. 

     "Ah well. I'm sure somebody around here sells one. So, where are you heading now that you're all suns-safe?"

"Not sure," Ace admits. "I am trying to find more about this place." She's still looking for Wolf's lighter, on the off chance.

     "Well," begins Wolf as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and tucks it crudely into the pocket with the rest of the pack, although not into the pack, so it gets a bit bent up in the process. "It depends on your personal style, but I find the best thing to teach you about a place are the locals and the best place to find locals willing to share just about anything...is a bar." 

     A thumb is jerked to one side in gesture. "I saw one over that way, just down the way, that could be promising. Pretty seedy dive, too, but I like that kind of thing," O'Donnell admits. Go figure.

"I'm sure I've been in worse," Ace says as she starts to head in that direction. Seedy, she can deal with. Heck, she can deal with openly violent, especially if some idiot thinks she's soft.

     "I don't doubt it for a second," says Wolf in a way that shouldn't necessarily hint at being ungenuine, although amusement is certainly present. "I was going to finish having a look around for something in particular, myself, before heading back that way." Hooking his thumbs into his pants pockets, O'Donnell regards Ace with a looking over at her more than willingness to head off to visit a potentially dangerous cantina filled with who-knows-what. 

     "You remind me of somebody," the merc states, simply.

"Who?" Ace asks, curiously, shifting her backpack under the cape. She's looking back over her shoulder, quite casually. She looks young, but Wolf can probably tell she's still had some experience in, well. Life.

     "Heh." Wolf also begins to turn away toward the direction he was heading before pickpocket interruption. He, too, looks half over a shoulder in turn and the light of the twin suns reflect off of his inner eye turning the purple color an otherworldly glow. There's a brief -- very very brief -- silent pause as this moment of reflection lasts before lifting his brow and giving the faintest lift of his right shoulder when he replies. 

     "Me."

Ace laughs. "I suspect we're quite different." But both...well, not inclined to back down, which she takes as a compliment. Of course, he probably is also referring to being young and bold, which she knows she is. If not stupid. No...she's learned not to be stupid.

     "Yeah. You're probably right," agrees Wolf on being different than she. But that doesn't fully discount the glimmer of familiarity in how one holds him or herself. Comfortable confidence with little need to be showy unless insulted or pushed to backup words? Wolf isn't sure, really. He could be assuming a lot. And, honestly? That's okay. He meets new people all the time in his travels, so self-reflection is a perfectly normal 'thing'. Beyond that? Well, he helped a stranger out (or at least feels like he did) and, if he's lucky, maybe can hire on a new informant. Worse comes to worse, gang war. He can work with it no matter how the pieces are played. 

     "Maybe I'll see you there, kitten."

"Maybe." Ace doesn't argue that she's not any kind of a cat...because he's not *entirely* wrong on that front, she has definite feline tendencies, if she's honest with herself. With a crooked smile, she heads for the Cantina.