Just as a note of warning, the following RP was undertaken when neither player had had even remotely enough sleep. Jumps in logic are to be blamed upon that lack. Really. The players in question are always logical when they've had enough sleep. Yeah. That's it.

3/29/99

Corian wakes. She does it mostly all at once, with very little groggy, not-quite-awakeness about her. Though she doesn't say anything just yet, on the off chance that you're still asleep, she does shift in the rubble, the better to get that obnoxious bit of rock from the small of her back.

Tarrant is still half asleep, or at least in some state gone enough that he's less than coherant if not truly asleep. His eyes are open though, and after a moment the movement registers and he shifts as well. There's a tiny glimmering of light in the tunnel now, through cracks and crevices, as it is light outside. When he speaks his voice is barely a whisper, "Awake?"

Corian nods, then thinks to add verbally, though at the same volume as your own speech, "I am, yes. How are you?"

"I've had days I liked more," Tarrant admits with creaky ruefulness. "How's the shoulder?"

[Simple deleted a pose. Basically, Corian said, "It hurts, but less than it did.]

"Gonna' be able to follow then if I move the rubble?" Tarrant still has barely budged, the concept of him moving the rubble would seem somewhat laughable, except he's a determined SOB. "We seem to be near the outside, maybe there's an exit onto the grounds. Or I can make us one."

Corian nods, then adds, "I am able to assist you in moving the rubble, van'chela. I am not so badly injured as that." She doesn't actually start helping just yet, but that could be because you're between her and the aforementioned rubble.

"I don't know if that's possible..." Tarrant sets about the complicated process of twisting and turning to face the other way. Rumble, rummage, crack, twist, scruffle. "There's not exactly a copious amount of space. Just relax as best you can. Once we get out of here the adventure's just started. We'll be conspicuous."

Corian seems willing to do what you say--for now, at least. "Perhaps we should deal with that aspect of our departure when we reach it? And if you tire overmuch, you -will- pause, yes?"

"Yeah, don't worry, I'll have to. I have to be set for getting out too." Tarrant's reply is muffled, as he does not raise his voice to compensate for the new distance. More shifting sounds ensue, and slowly his feet inch forward as he hauls himself forward into the slowly cleared space.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian, as has been demonstrated, is pretty good at following. She proves this again, as she edges behind you. "Good." That single word, spoken very quietly, could be easily missed by one who is moving rubble. (Gee. Who could that be?) Her gray eyes are shadowed with concern as she squints to see as much as she can in the light.

Scruffle, move, scruffle, shift, pause, scruffle, pause, move. And so on and so forth, Tarrant slowly edges his way through the tunnel. The lit cracks grow broader and more numerous. After a bit there's a longer pause than normal, "Tight sqeeze, sorry, I'm working at clearing it some more."

"There is no need to apologize," comes Corian's quiet reply. Matter of fact, as may be suggested by her tone, she doesn't actually -mind- the break. "Please do let me know if there is any way that I may assist you."

There's a pause of several beats as Tarrant raggedly attempts to catch his breath. "If I think of anything, I promise, you'll be the first to know. I'm hoping this flat area I can feel ahead is ground level. Then I can try and crack on through whatever this stuff is."

Corian nods agreeably, despite the fact that you can't see her. "That sounds like a workable plan, yes." There's a hint of uncertainty in her tone, though. Cracking through 'stuff' whose composition is dubious seems like potentially bad news, to her.

Tarrant of course does not understand the meaning behind the uncertainty, although he catches it. Not yet moving onwards he instead questions, "Is something wrong?"

Corian considers for a moment, then admits, "I am concerned about the... cracking through aspect of this plan. Of course, I also do not have the perspective that you do, in that I am unable to see what is ahead."

"I think we're in one of the gardens, see. Saw the stucco like this as we were coming in. And it smells like cut grass. Specially when it started getting warm. Figure if I poke a hole, I can see if anybody's about, then crack through." Tarrant explains in a somewhat vague fashion.

Corian does sound somewhat relieved, though, as she says, "Stucco is somewhat better than that which I was picturing. That sounds much more feasible, yes."

There's an exceedingly soft, but exceptionally displeased sound from Tarrant accompanied by another scruffle-crunch, and once again he's moving. "Yeah, flattens out a good bit up here. And opens up some, so we can wait a bit and watch and see if there's a pattern of people. Or wait till dark if that might help."

Corian winces at the displeased sound, and, of course, follows. This time, however, since the ground flattens and opens, she does not merely stop, but moves so that she's next to you. Imagine that. "Waiting somewhat certainly sounds like a good idea to me, yes." She pauses a beat, then inquires, her concern evident, "Are you all right?"

"Fine, yeah fine, that was just a little too tight." Tarrant is rapidly regaining his composure, shifting to rest his weight against the non-stucco wall. He indicates the cracked surface, "One good solid kick and I can easily clear a goodly sized hole in that."

Corian nods her agreement, gaze resting on the wall. "Indeed you could, yes." Moving so that she's resting against 'your' wall, uninjured shoulder almost but not quite brushing yours, she adds, "But not, perhaps, just yet. I do not mind admitting that I would prefer to take a break before we continue."

Tarrant resists the exceptionally strong urge to shift closer to you in the darkness, instead murmuring an affirmative. "Yeah," he drawls softly, "A break would be good. We're going to need to be on our feet when it's broken through."

Corian shakes her head fractionally. "Walking upright will be a relief," she murmurs. "This does feel rather odd, though, after the Complex--like the old days. Part of me expects to see John or one of the others, as well."

"It'd be awful nice to see one of em at this point, one of the things I miss about working with other folks." A hint of amusement leaks into Tarrant's tone, "People to come rescue when the water gets too high." He crosses his arms over his chest, the once white shirt now gray and brown. "Reminds you why you got out, huh?"

Corian murmurs something only vaguely understandable--it sounds like a positive statement about rescue, though. "I believe we can handle our own rescue, though." After a brief pause, she says, "This is not exactly the most positive experience I've had, but one must take the good with the bad, yes?" How's that for avoiding a question?

Tarrant shifts forward, at last in control of himself again. Cautiously he prods at a crack, widening it a bit. "Watching's good." He rests against the stucco gingerly, so it can hold his weight and he can watch through the crack. "Yeah, we had a lot of good times, only makes sense they're tempered. Lotsa' fun."

Corian watches you for a moment, then gets to her feet as well, choosing a spot of wall far enough from you that the stucco wall doesn't have a lot of weight centered on one section. Delicate fingers make an eyehole, and then she peers through as well. "Goodness knows we could not succeed easily each time," she murmurs, a faint hint of humor in her voice. "Then everyone would wish to pursue our--this line of work."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Tarrant shifts down to sprawl in a seat against the wall, choosing a second crack and tugging at it. "It's not real popular, no. See anything?"

"Flowers," Corian replies, after a brief glance away from her peekhole to see what the sprawling sound is. She doesn't do the same just yet, though. "They're quite lovely. Ah--someone just passed." Her voice is, of course, very quiet.

Tarrant falls silent, shifting againt the wall in a half curled seat. As the shadow passes he murmurs, "Wonder how many... Don't know how many I can subdue just now. Too bad it's not raining again, much as I don't think I'd look forward to another drenching."

Corian suggests, "Perhaps there will be fewer people after dark. Do you have any idea how far we are from an exit from the palace grounds?"

Tarrant widens his viewing hole just a bit, squinting. "I can't tell from the view. But we're a goodly distance from where we entered at least, I don't know how the garden's shaped."

"I suppose we will have the chance to find out, then," Corian murmurs. After a moment, she finally shifts to a seated position, carefully making another eyehole. "I would prefer to be better informed, but, unfortunately, it cannot be helped."

"I can try heading further up the tunnel? See what's to be seen?" Tarrant offers, words still barely a whispered drawl in deference to the fact that hiding is occuring.

Corian shakes her head. "I would prefer that we stay together. Though perhaps -we- may attempt to travel farther along the tunnel."

"In a bit maybe. We've got a while till dark from the position of the sun. Resting is good, resting and being ready." Tarrant re-crosses his arms, folding against the stucco so that he can watch and rest.

Corian shifts her position fractionally, perhaps in an attempt to see the sun. "That sounds like an excellent idea, yes," she murmurs, returning to her former position before leaning to brace her arms against her folded legs, nearly folding herself in half as she does so. She must be doing that to stretch, as she shifts upright after a moment. "Resting and readiness both sound rather necessary, especially in a blind situation."

"Yeah, good things..." Tarrant's eyes close and he casts about for distracting conversational topics. "Are there a lot of worlds with Portugese as a language base?"

Corian's tone is absent as she quietly rattles off a relatively short list, when one considers the total number of planets. She seems to go along with the segue fairly well, yes. "Those are, of course," she adds, "Only those which have a Portuguese-based language as their major language, and only those of which I have heard. I have only visited Lusitania; it is a lovely world, if somewhat monotonous in scenery."

"I think I've been to Grazil once, the place with the yellow brick buildings. And the place with the garlic stew the same color." Tarrant rambles a bit, adding further questions. "Monotonous? In what way? What was it like?"

"At least in the section of the planet I saw, the landscape was all the same--the grass, one kind of tree, not very many animals," Corian replies. "It was quite odd, but apparently the Lusos prefer it that way."

Tarrant murmurs quietly, "It takes all kinds in this crazy old universe. Me, I guess I got gifted with wanderlust early, I like to see all the different worlds. One of the best things about this job."

Corian observes, shifting away from her peekhole to rub lightly at her eyes, then peer at you, "The job is not necessary for the travel, though. I managed without for seven years--though I suppose that does not seem like very long."

Tarrant's reply holds a hint of sadness, although he doesn't shift from his tight curl. "I know it is not for everybody. But it is what I do, and current evidence aside, it's what I'm good at. I'm insane you see, I want to save the universe. It's just not cooperating."

Corian is silent for a long moment before she says, no small amount of apology in her voice, "I did not intend that as a criticism, van'chela, and I do not believe that you are insane. Your goals are laudable, but perhaps a bit out of your grasp as of yet."

"Nah, I'm certifiable, promise. I have to be to be me. Homicidal maniac with delusions of granduer and all that. It's probably even in my file." Tarrant's words are tinged with amusement. "Better to die reaching for the sun than to catch the streetlamp."

Corian, after a gentle prod at her shoulder, turns back to her peekhole. She murmurs to herself, "... don't think... delusions..." After a pause to settle herself, she adds, "I believe you are right, in that last."

Tarrant seems somewhat tickled you don't try to deny the other, chuckling in vague amusement. Worry however tinges the sound and he questions, "How's the shoulder doing? Should we get moving?"

Corian is not quite as tired as her player, hence the occasional lapse of coherency, as in that last pose. Ahem. "Perhaps we should go soon, yes. It is nearly twilight. Perhaps that would be a good time to leave, so we will have some light yet to see."

"Yeah, yeah a good time..." Tarrant uses the wall to drag himself to his feet. Checking the peekhole one last time he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. And then in a whirl of movement he spins in a three-quarters turn on one foot, the heavy boot connecting with the wall and quietly causing a good sized portion of it to crumple. Tarrant all but crumples as well, having to catch himself against the back wall, set off balance by the kick. He catches himself quickly however, and reaches for your hand to offer assistance.

Corian murmurs something about suave moves as she accepts your assistance to get to her feet, then releases your hand with a quiet thankyou. Her expression is more concerned than amused, though--she did notice that near-crumpling, after all. She draws her hood over her head, concealing her silvery-blonde hair and most views of her face, then tucks together the jaggedly-ripped section of the jacket, over her shoulder. "Ready?" she inquires, voice barely a whisper.

Tarrant nods to the question, brushing at the smudges on his shirt to smear them all the farther and finish covering the white. "As I'll ever be..." And with that he ducks out of the hole, keeping close to the wall and looking around as swiftly as he can.

Corian, as will likely come as a big surprise, follows. Her movements are smooth, and, of course, graceful; she practically glides after you, gray eyes flicking about the garden as she trails two or three paces behind you.

Tarrant keeps ducked low, moving towards the high wall. A steady watch is kept out for gardners or other folks traversing the garden as he lopes wall-ward.

Corian does not, of course, have even nearly as much suavity as you do, but she keeps up well enough, watchful, vigilant, steady. She'd make a good German Shepherd, only she's mostly Edreeni. In any event, she follows, hands tucked neatly into her pockets.

Tarrant heads into the bushes near the wall, pausing at it for the space of a caught breath. He drops to a crouch, silently offering a leg up and over the medium sized stone wall.

Corian accepts the leg up with a nod and a movement of her lips that is likely a silent thankyou. Pulling herself up, she scrambles near-silently over the wall, then drops to the ground, landing in a crouch.

Tarrant scrambles up over the wall as well, dropping down after you, steadying his landing against the wall. He leans against the wall a moment panting before offering a hand and gesturing into the city environs around. "Let's find a place to hole up a bit, and snag the shuttle schedule. And I gotta snag some things."

Corian gets carefully to her feet, with a quiet thankyou for the hand up. "Holing up sounds like an excellent idea," she agrees softly. "A shuttle out of here sounds even better."

Tarrant ducks into the low alley, straightening enough to try and look less like a fugitive. He squints at various signs and then his eyes alight at a particular one that appears to be some kind of bookseller. He heads down the alley beside it, glancing back to make sure it is untenanted and you are unfollowed. A half hidden switch is toggled and a door pulled back. Inside is a tiny room, about the size of a studio apartment with bed, a door into a bathroom, and a variety of piled boxes of gear. "Bingo," he murmurs. "Why doncha' lie down a bit, or clean up, or anything that appeals. I'll be right back."

Corian's brows lift as she slips into the room. "As I have said, quite resourceful. Many thanks." She does not, it may be noted, ask where you will be, though there's a hint of inquiry about her that suggests her desire to ask that question. She doesn't, though, instead taking a mental inventory of the room's contents.

"I should be here in half an hour, maybe three-quarters of an hour." Tarrant offers one of his stock in trade grins, "Nothin' t'worry about. Then we get offworld."

Corian nods to that, though she says, rather mildly, "Though I appreciate the opportunity for a rest, I should be able to keep up with you, Tarrant. I do not believe I am -that- out of practice, after four or five months away from the job."

"Corian, I've no doubt you could keep up. Probably outpace me at this point, but I need t'go hassle up some folks you don't have access to anymore, and we can't afford to have them balk. I'm sorry, really I am." Tarrant does head into the room long enough to rummage in a box of gear and pulls out a black windbreaker, several sizes too large for him. He drags it on over the tattered shirt.

Corian, after a small pause, inclines her head. "There is no need for you to apologize." She really has gotten fond of that phrase lately, hasn't she? She moves to perch on the edge of the bed, pulling up her legs to sit tailor-fashion. "I wish you luck in your endeavors, and I will await you here."

Tarrant also acquires a bolter, checking its charge before tucking it into an inside pocket of the coat. "I'll be right back, promise." He looks exceedingly guilty, "And this promise I'll manage to keep." And with that he's off through the streets.

After almost forty minutes the door is reopened and Tarrant returns with a large plasticine satchel. The look in his eyes is all but fever bright, and despite the recent events he executes a neat and sweeping bow. "I return."

Corian is still perched on the bed, though she's now seated with her back against the wall. She's apparently moved more than just that backwards shift, as she's neatened up somewhat, and the tear in her jacket has been fastened shut with something. Still seated, she places a hand over her heart, lowering her upper body in as graceful a bow as she can manage while seated. "So I see," she replies, a quick smile crossing her face. "Welcome back."

Tarrant moves to sink down on one corner of the bed, a polite and gentlemanly distance away. He tugs open the satchel, tugging out your bag from the hotel, and a second smaller evidence bag containing your confiscated possessions from the palace. He offers these apologetically, "Sorry about all this."

Corian takes up the first bag with a murmured thankyou, as, while handy and convenient and such, it didn't contain anything irreplaceable. The smaller bag, however, elicits a decidedly grateful smile. Tucking the second bag into the first, after a moment to reassure herself that, yes, her belongings are as they should be, she replies, "There is no need for you to apologize." See? She -does- say that a lot. "I know that you were not responsible for this."

Tarrant tugs his own bag from the satchel, settling the plasticine one aside. He taps the chest pocket of the windbreaker. "Got my passcards back, we can get hop a shuttle back, though I don't know about as fast a method of travel back." He offers a small bottle from one pocket, "I snagged some pain killers for you, that shoulder's got to be a bear." He chooses not to argue his own guilt, as it seems obvious this is an issue you two can't agree on.

Corian murmurs, with a faint, amused smile, "Ah, I thought it was a shoulder, rather than a bear." She does, however, accept the bottle with a murmured thankyou, studying the label. "Hopping back sounds good, very good. The speed is not quite as important as the travel itself, in my opinion."

Tarrant climbs again to his feet, "Want some water for those?" His expression is still that fire touched one, "And we can make our way to the Shuttlport as soon as you'd like."

Corian shakes her head, with a murmured negative. She uncaps the bottle and shakes out the appropriate number of pills, downing them after a moment. Recapping the bottle, she offers it to you. "Thank you for this." There's a brief pause, and then she inquires, "Are you all right?"

Tarrant accepts the proffered bottle, pocketing it again reflexively. He nods, "I didn't get so much as bruised getting things. Some methods are more functional than others." He offers a hand, tucking the handle of his satchel in the opposite one. "Shall we try and git us a ride home?"

Corian gets to her feet, making use of the offered hand with a murmured thank you. "That sounds like an excellent idea, yes. Home. I am sure this is a lovely planet, but I will be glad to leave it, just the same."

Tarrant nods in a decidedly emphatic fashion to that. Passing through the door he shivers briefly upon hitting the cool night air. Waiting for you to follow he then closes the door again, brushing fingertips across a now visible hidden panel, causing a lock to sink home. "Print reader," he murmurs.

Corian casts a brief look at the panel as she settles her hood over her head, then tucks her hands into her pockets. "Fascinating," she murmurs, a la Data. Okay, so her eyes are gray, and not yellow, but she's still not human. (Not that she wants to be human--not that there's anything wrong with that.) Gaze flicking back to you, she inquires, "Shall we?"

Tarrant nods, although instead of bowing politely for you to precede him he steps lightly into point, making his wending way through the side streets of the city with a driven intensity. He's careful to keep the pace unhurried. As the Spaceport hoves into sight he steps back again offering a small plasticine card. "The passcard," he explains. Wow, talk about trust. "Shuttle schedule and all's in the local lingo, m'dang lucky you're here, I'd be dead lost."

Corian follows your lead, of course. Seeing as how it would take her somewhat longer to find the Spaceport on her own, this is the intelligent choice. Her brows arch as she takes the passcard, and she murmurs a reflexive thankyou. "I am certain you would have managed," she adds.

"Eventually. But eventuallies are dangerous." Now that the destination is clear Tarrant remains to your left. As the doorway to the area is reached he steps aside to pull it open, dropping a foot back for a dramatic and formal brow, the amused firey electricity still in his eyes, although their focus seems a bit distant. "Your pumpkin awaits."

Corian regards you for a moment, expression decidedly concerned, then steps through the door with a murmured thankyou. "As long as it doesn't mystically turn into a coach, I will be content." She makes her way to the schedule, with a glance to make sure you're following, then starts to peruse it.

Tarrant is indeed following along afterwards, not quite swaggering as per normal, but making a reasonable attempt at it. He regards the schedule as well, although quite blankly as he can't read a word of it of course. "Anything that'll suit?"

Corian replies absently in the local lingo, then sighs quietly as she realizes what she did. Standard. She has the switch that will shift her brain back to Standard -somewhere-. "Please forgive me. When I am tired, that tends to happen. Please do let me know if I get stuck and do not realize it. There are two. One leaves in ten minutes, but is a somewhat slower ship. The other leaves in just over three hours, and is a bit faster." She adds the specifics of the ship, of course.

"It's tempting to get clear of this place as soon as possible. They're on our trail. But slower might be a bad thing. A really bad thing. So's getting caught." Tarrant shakes his head, "Any preference or do we flip for it?"

Corian, after a thoughtful pause, shifts into your milk tongue. "How much do they know about us? Do they know our real names? And will they follow us off-planet?"

"Not likely to follow, won't want to tangle with Alliance authorities." Tarrant leans one shoulder up against the information pavilion. He pauses a moment and blinks, realizing the language shift and that he reflexively replied in kind. "It depends, were you carrying any ID when they searched you?"

Corian shakes her head, though she does pause a beat at the mention of Alliance authorities. When she speaks, it is still in your native language. "I had left it with this." She brushes her fingers along the side of her battered bag, now looped over her good shoulder. "I may be oversimplifying, but I believe that leaving as soon as possible would be preferable, if they are unlikely to follow."

"Yeah, leaving sounds good to me." Did the morning come to early, was the night not long enough, does a tear of hesitation fall on everything you touch, well it might just be a lesson, for the lonely heart to know, maybe leavin's not the only way to go. Yes, I am gone a lot, why do you ask? Tarrant offers a weary smile, although that sheen's still in his eyes, making him appear preternaturally alert. "Which pad? We'd better doubletime it."

Corian replies, after a glance at the schedule and a few moments to juggle languages, "E-7. It is relatively close, as these things go, but we should still hurry."

Tarrant nods crisply, heading in at least the correct general direction, cutting a path of sorts through the milling people. He's filthy and looks feverishly maniacal, would -you- want to get in his way? "Can be done."

Corian falls into step behind you, hands tucking neatly into her pockets once more. "And we can go home." It's very quiet, but very likely audible as well.

"Home'd be good, yeah." Tarrant's words are soft, but a great deal of emotion is layered behind them. He finds the padd in question, pausing to step behind you again, as the queue to the check-in desk is reached.

Corian, unsurprisingly, looks tired as she reaches the beginning of the queue and has a brief conversation with the man behind the desk. You get a few odd looks throughout the exchange. After one of these looks, Corian snaps a question, even sounding irritated. (The world ends?) The man's reply elicits an odd, strangled sound, and she replies sharply. Passes are eventually handed over, and the man concludes, "Boa tarde." Corian replies in kind, casting you a look that somehow manages to mingle outrage and an amusement that is nigh unto hysteria. "We can board, now."

Tarrant looks exceedingly chagrined at the argument, tagging along behind. "Do I wanna know?" He's careful to keep the words neat and without too much blurring. He's looking perhaps a bit startled, the annoyed look may have him confused and all. "Boarding's good. Sitting down will be nice, you look gone."

Corian replies, with a stifled laugh, "I will tell you when we have boarded, when I get a chance to sit. Gone... yes, that is a good assessment." She offers you your pass, and the passcard as well. "We'd best hurry. We'll barely make it on time."

Tarrant accepts the proffered documents although he seems almost unable to recognize them. He nods at the injunction to hurry, gesturing for you to precede him up the ramp. He keeps close to hand, keeping an eye on you.

Corian doesn't quite move briskly, nor is she as graceful as usual, but she makes fairly good time as she heads up the ramp. The pass is checked by a young man, then she moves down the aisle in question, counting off doors until she gets to the proper compartment. She even manages to open its door herself, stepping inside with a quiet sigh.

Tarrant is far enough gone to the world that he doesn't even try to snag the door, instead being content to close it behind. He blinks several times at the accomadations, "Lot better than the trip up." He stows his bag, offering to take yours and do the same to it.

Corian hands over her bag with a murmured thankyou, then sinks into one of the seats. "Much, much better. We have room. We have a door. This was a good choice." She fastens the safety harness with a small wince, then finally pushes back her hood.

Tarrant settles the bag into the bay, locking it down. He sinks down onto the seat opposite, although he regards the seat next to you a moment before doing so. The harness is shrugged on and clipped in place. He tightens it perhaps more than is strictly required, letting it hold him upright. "A very good choice. It's amusingly archaic, a good place for us."

Corian nods her agreement, letting her head rest against the back of the seat. Her eyes close, but she is still obviously awake, as she speaks, and she's not really prone to talking in her sleep. "It's called the Orient Express, ironically enough." After a pause, and a chuckle that still somehow holds an edge of her earlier irritation, she adds, "The gentleman at the counter wished to know if you intended me harm. I am sure he meant it in the nicest possible way, but I did not appreciate the implication."

Tarrant performs the opposite, letting his chin drop to his chest and having the straps support his weight. His arms are crossed half over his chest. The question garners a delighted laugh however, despite his obvious less than together state. "Now it's moments like that it's good I couldn't understand. I'd've likely informed him I was a desperate highwayman and had abducted you for your brilliance and stunning beauty so that I might hie you away to my mountain lair to be locked in a tall tower." And he would have too, this is why travelling with Tarrant is a chancy occupation if you have a low tolerance for the absurd.

Corian's eyes snap open at 'brilliance and stunning beauty', though they close once more after a moment, and an amused chuckle from Corian. "That would have been worth seeing his reaction. The poor man, he was perhaps a bit nonplussed when I snapped at him. People generally do have that reaction when I am... less than nice." With a muffled yawn, she inquires, "Do you have a mountain lair. A mountain lair would be nice. I would like a mountain lair. I only have plains."

Tarrant shakes his head a bit sadly, although he gives it up when he looks up and realizes your eyes are closed and he doesn't have to move if he doesn't want to. This newfound luxury of un-movingness pleases him greatly. "No, I'm afraid I don't. I don't have a lair at all unless you count the room I currently reside in at the Complex. I know of a couple of mountain lairs though. I once lived in a giant and very modern treehouse for a month. I could have gotten used to that. The view of the ocean was without peer, the crisp tang of ocean's salty scent layered with the sweetness of the blossoming flowers on the tree itself. The warm winds toying with everything they could wrap wispy little fingers about..." Maybe it's his current state, or the language being used, he doesn't usually wax on unless he's being absurd. He doesn't sound like he's trying to be silly this time however.

Corian's eyes open at your description, a slow smile crossing her face. "That sounds absolutely lovely, van'chela. Would you ever get the opportunity to see it again, do you think?"

"Maybe one of these days." Tarrant's reply is not without a decided wistful hint, although he does not move from his propped slump. "Who knows how the trade winds will blow next year, or even next week. I would very much like to get the opportunity. I had thought to move there when I retire, but of late I begin to find retirement a singularly unlikely condition. Should I live so long as to do so, could I? Voluntarily give up my life's work?"

Corian rests one arm atop the other, in a position that would be 'cradling' if it were higher on her torso. As it is, her arms rest in her lap. "That is something only you can answer," she says quietly, eyes remaining open though they're somewhat fogged with tiredness. "I would say that I find that thought unlikely, but I cannot say what will happen in the future. This time last year, I did not envision that I would move to an alternate career so soon, after all."

"Exceptionally unlikely, yeah. I've seen about it all I think, and kept at it. Nearly fifty years now. I figure if I've not gotten thrown out of it in nearly fifty years, the odds are against it occuring." Tarrant's words are tired as well, speech an effort as at last adrenalin is wearing off and full effects are coming in to haunt him. "It's stopped being what I do and become what I am. And I enjoy what I do, well most of it, it's meaningful."

Corian nods her agreement to that. "It certainly is," she murmurs, finally letting her eyes close once more. "It is good that you enjoy it, as it seems like it would be rather a difficult job if you did not."

"Yeah, it would be." Tarrant yawns quietly. "Helps that I'm a raving lunatic with psycho-social conditioning of course, b'hey, whatever gives job satisfaction."

Corian's diction is starting to get a bit less crisp, and... well, the language of Michmil and a Kashidian accent do not a happy combo make. "You must rave when I am not present, as I do not believe I have ever witnessed it."

"Nah, just so immured you don't notice it." There's a pause, and after a halting pause Tarrant points out, "Maybe you should get some sleep."

Corian replies, with a faint smile, "I should, as I am quite tired." She's gifted at understatement, isn't she? "I will attempt to do so, but I am not sure that it is possible at this particular moment in time."

"Maybe if you stretched out?" Tarrant suggests, actually pulling his head up enough to look up. "Seat folds out into a bed, and the harness light's off..."

Corian, as she opens her eyes and sees that, yes, the harness light is, in fact, off, unbuckles the harness and eases it off with a barely-aspirated sigh. "It is not the positioning that keeps me awake--though I suppose that might help--but the overactiveness of my thoughts."

Tarrant ahhs quietly, although he leaves his own harness on. "Overactive?"

Corian inclines her head, lifting one hand--the one that would be attached to the arm that is attached to the uninjured shoulder--to rub at her eyes. (The arm bone's connected to the... shoulder bone.) "To sleep, I require a certain amount of... mental peace, I suppose. I am thinking too much just now for that to be the case." She shakes her head fractionally. "It's beyond my control."

Looking a little sheepish, Tarrant nods, "Sorry, I understood that, guess I was looking for clarification on what was troubling you so I could try to help."

Corian blinks, and then offers a faint smile. "Sorry. I suppose I am a bit literal today. I am not exactly troubled so much as..." She shakes her head. "There are words I still need to learn. I am not sure whether Riley noticed my absence. I am fairly sure that my employers did. They will likely accept that I was 'unavoidably delayed', but I don't know that Riley will. And, somehow, I think a full explanation is out of the question."

Tarrant shifts back to Standard, assuming you'd be more comfortable in it, hence his drawling accent returns. He's a very concise speaker in his own language. "Maybe just tell him I hired you on a goverment contract and there was an accident? Near enough the truth as makes no odds..."

Corian offers a smile and a murmured thankyou for the lingual shift, as she is, in fact, markedly more comfortable in Standard. "I would prefer to keep your name out of it, though. And I would like to avoid any mention of the accident as well. Riley..." She shakes her head fractionally. "Well, he still sees me as I was, I suppose."

"The best cover story is the truth though, Corian. Just say there was a rockfall. Y'can hardly be faulted for a rockfall while you're out working." Tarrant returns the smile with a mildy sheepish one of his own. He also nods, "Family's like that. Never can see you grew up along the way."

Corian observes, with a hint of wry humor in her voice, "And I did not trouble Riley about his own rockfall, after all--though I honestly do not know if he would reciprocate, in that." One shoulder lifts in an almost-graceful half-shrug. "We shall see. Perhaps he did not notice, and I am worrying for nothing."

"Everything'll work out Corian, don't worry. It's a little tangle, we got out of the big one." Tarrant's head sinks back down. "Home and a hot shower and a bed."

Corian's smile is faint, and decidedly amused. "Ah, but I must worry, I am afraid. It's the little tangles that elicit the most worry--when the greater ones are in process, I am far too worried about how to cause untangling to worry. If it will make you feel better, though, I will attempt not to worry any more than is necessary." She muffles a yawn, adding, "That sounds absolutely heavenly."

"Worrying's okay, but worrying too much to rest is a badness, my lingual friend." Tarrant gestures vaguely, "I can snag you a blanket and a pillow even?"

Corian ponders that for a moment, then finally nods. "I would greatly appreciate that, but only if you attempt to rest as well."

Tarrant gingerly unfastens his harness, using an armrest to lever himself to his feet. He rummages in a cabinet, pulling out several blankets and a couple of pillows. Padding very carefully back he offers two of the blankets and one of the pillows. "I intend to do just that. Resting for certain, and sleep if nothing goes awry." He gestures to the side to a switch, "That'll unfold your bench into a bunk."

Corian murmurs a quiet thankyou, though she gets carefully to her feet before she tries the switch. She's not about to transmogrify her bench while she's sitting on it, see. Once the bench is bunkified, she smiles, and spreads out the blankets. She does take the precaution of pulling off her shoes, though the rest of her clothing, including that jacket, remain firmly attached to her person as she climbs onto the bunk and under the blankets. "This is much better," she decides. She curls up on the uninjured side, managing to fold into a remarkably small bundle for one so tall, then adds quietly, "Rest well, van'chela."

Tarrant reaches out half hesitantly as if to help with the blankets, although he manages restraint, something less than readable flickering over his features for a moment. He doesn't alter the state of his own bunk however, instead lying on it in bench form and dragging the blanket over him. The reason becomes discernable if logic is used. One folded out bench takes up approximately half the space. The other would likely do so as well. In fact, it would seem they're designed to connect. "And you," he murmurs, "Dream of mountain lairs perhaps."

"Chiat'a bei kruzon." The words are tired, as is Corian, otherwise she would have spoken in Standard. But that's such a spiffy phrase, it needs to be used often. She murmurs something about treehouses, and towers, and something else equally confused, but at least it's not more Kashidian. Her eyes close, though she likely doesn't drift off just yet.

Tarrant doesn't question the words, although he hasn't a clue what they mean, as he does not wish to spur any awakeness of any sort, instead hoping you'll sleep. He curls up into as comfortable a position as possible under the circumstances and pulls the blanket up to his ears. One hand is shifted just high enough to dim the lights. He settles down, keeping sound and comment to himself so as not to disturb.

Corian shifts somewhat under the blankets, with a quiet rustling, then stills once more. There's a barely-audible sigh--the contentment of finally being able to relax without having small stones take up residence in the small of her back--and then, finally, Cori sleeps.

After a while, for now it's Tarrant's turn to find thought too overwhelming, the lunatic assassin sleeps as well.


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