9/21/99

Tarrant urges Scruffy along to greater speed, moving in a wide loop around to the far side of the port city. "We'll see soon enough if the other road's blocked as well I guess. That's not a good sign." He's miserable, and mostly frozen in the non-agency jacket, but there's work at hand, so it's as if nothing's wrong. His body will just lecture him about it later, and probably whine he doesn't phone enough.

Corian is shivering, yes, quite a lot. Even with the agency jacket, she's extremely unthrilled with this weather. And, yes, she's a wuss, though she's not actually -saying- anything about how cold she is. "No," she agrees quietly. "It is not. But we are nearly around the curve, so hopefully we can get to the port and see if they know about us."

And lo, the far road does come into sight. And lo, what barricade doth lie upon the road like a wounded tree, with glaring lights and fearsome guards. Tarrant backs Scruffy up a bit, and makes for a slightly different direction, hoping to stay unseen. "L-looks..." He pauses and hauls himself into a more reasonable mode, where teeth do not chatter. "It looks like we're going to need to sneak into the port."

There's a long pause from Corian, and a very quiet murmur that is very likely some vicious swearing in some language you don't speak. "Well," she says finally, "This will be an adventure." And she manages to stop the shivering long enough to speak clearly. "We are good at sneaking, though."

Tarrant guides the beastie down a street that leads into the town of sorts surrounding the port. "Let's maybe sneak Scruffy into somebody's herd, then make our way into the port complex? Maybe through the exports gating."

Aww, leaving Scruffy? "That sounds like an excellent idea," Corian agrees quietly. "Not having Scruffy will make the sneaking more easy." There's a pause, then she asks wistfully, "Maybe we can stay on Scruffy until we find this herd, though. Walking through the snow is really not going to be fun."

Tarrant considers the road, and then slips lightly from Scruffy's back. Too bad he doesn't land anywhere near as neatly, his knees giving out and sending him onto his butt. He scrambles back up to his feet. "You stay up there, I'll lead him. I don't trust my, um, driving I guess, in these closer streets."

Corian shakes her head at that. "No, no," she replies, half-sliding down Scruffy and landing with an entertaining fwoomf in the snow. "If you are going to walk, then I will as well." See, being spoiled is one thing, but this is quite another. She does, though, keep a hand on Scruffy, the better to keep balance and such. Though, as she's not objecting to -some- spoiling, she stays behind you, nicely letting you do any path-breaking that might occur.

Tarrant offers a sheepish look and nods as he guides Scruffy along. He attempts to force as much of a path as possible. "Sorry, love. I just don't want to call too much attention to us by me mowing down somebody's tent." He's learned however, and doesn't attempt to insist that you climb back on Scruffy. Instead he leads off towards a corral.

Learning is a good thing, as such an attempt would not elicit a happy response from Corian. She just contents herself with plodding along behind you. "That would... certainly be attention-getting," she murmurs. "This is for the best." She pauses a moment to lean past you, then suggests, with a nod, "Perhaps that way?"

Tarrant nods to you, changing to the indicated direction. "Looks good, bingo..." This last is murmured as a corral hoves into sight, and he ducks forward to attempt to slip Scruffy beneath the rope. "No, beast, go, no, you can't come with us." Slurp. Oooh, Scruffy slime added to Tarrant's goo. "No, yess, I like you too, but you'd never fit at the foot of the bed."

Corian reaches up one gloved hand to pat at Scruffy, before taking your hand, the better to pull you away from Scruffy if necessary. "Not to mention getting him through Customs," she murmurs, with a hint of pragmatism. "That is a start, though. Perhaps we will be able to sneak through more sneakily, now."

Sniffle. Okay, either Tarrant's finally caught some sort of respiratory ailment, or he doesn't want to leave the giant fluffy critter. He does allow himself to be tugged away however, and nods. "Either the export gating, or maybe some kind of service entrance."

"Something that they will not be watching too closely," Corian agrees, doing her best to squeeze your hand with rather uncooperative fingers. "Perhaps... this way? Unfortunately, I did not investigate the maps for -this- port."

"Just look for the output, and then..." Tarrant considers the port building and heads off in a direction rather confidantly, alebit with another sniffle. "Export'll be opposite. So as not to interfere with goods. Passengers in between." He rounds a corner, striding as if he knows where he is and has every right to be there, and is in a loading yard, surrounded by pallets of goods. "Now," he notes, and this time by the radio. "We just march right to the gating for passenger ships and hope there's no posted watch."

Corian nods her agreement to that, keeping pace with you. Yes, she's this grimy every day, she's -supposed- to be here, really. Via radio, she says lightly, "As dirty as we are, maybe they would just not recognize us."

"Let's hope," Tarrant replies by the same method, making his way from the dirty yard to the cleaner terminal. Rummaging in a fumbling fashion for a card in one pocket, he feeds it into a ticketing machine. The card is accepted, but apparently there's some kind of camera, as the machine begins making squaling noise. "Shit." Yes, Tarrant really says that. Calmy but quickly he makes a beeline for another part of the terminal, trying not to be too obvious in the crowd. "Not a good thing."

Corian blinks at the evil noises from the machine. "Oh, no," she murmurs, though via the radio. "Well, this is definitely an adventure." There's a brief pause, then she says drolly, "Well, we both know how well sending a message to the department would work, telling them about this."

"This message will self destruct..." Tarrant can't help but sound amused as he attempts to sidestep into another hallway. "We seem to have two options. Stowing away, or stealing a ship."

Corian chuckles very quietly at your words, easily remaining just one step behind you. "Stowing away... that could be awkward, if we were caught. But stealing a ship does not seem like it would do us much good, cha'trez. Flaran cha'menthi is one thing, but that is quite another."

"If we can just find one nobody needs..." Tarrant replies as he makes his way down a darker hall, glancing at the readouts on various computer screens set into the wall. "And is uninhabited at the moment...I don't want to fight for one, if we can avoid it." He seems to like the ship stealing idea.

"But..." But Corian doesn't finish that 'how the heck are we going to -fly- the thing?' query, instead just trailing and nodding and looking a touch puzzled under the grime. "Not fighting is good, though. Avoiding people is good." And, hey, the darkness means less inhabited, yes? So maybe some ship down this hallway.

Tarrant considers another sign, one in the local language, "Ummm, what does that say?" His tone is a bit sheepish. With his luck it's like 'Men's Room'. He tugs off a glove with a wince, rummaging in a pocket for a small metal device.

Corian puzzles at the sign, "This way to the great... oh, dear, that is a spot, not a letter. It is details about the ship that is beyond, it seems," she says, with a nod towards the door. And, yes, this is all definitely over the radio. "It is a half-and-half, I think. Interesting, I thought that was a variety favored by smugglers--light and fast and small, with impressive weaponry for the size. It would probably suit us, if..." If someone knew how to fly it.

Tarrant brightens a bit and uses the small metal device to pry the plate beneath the screen up. Some rummaging ensues as well as a couple of sparks. A bright smile is offered to you as the mechanical bits chirp softly and he closes the plate again. "Perfect. We're set after all." Ooh, maybe they can keep -this- toy. He pokes his nose into the corridor that opens at the chirp and begins to snicker. "Ohhh, talk about poetic justice...It's an Abrarian ship..." And with that he pads lightly up the ramp, obviously having fun despite the fact he's still shivering intermitantly.

Corian follows somewhat more slowly, and with just a hint of reluctance. "But..." she repeats. "Cha'trez, will the Abrarians not miss their ship?" See, she doesn't want to come out and -ask- if you can fly the thing, as that would be kind of bad, in her opinion. She does, though, nod a vague appreciation for the lines of the ship.

Tarrant utilizes the small electronic equivalent of a swiss army knife on the ships hatch. This takes a lot more doing, and he briefly has to dance out of the way of an electric arc before popping the hatch. "After they screwed up our assignment, I honestly don't care if they miss it. And honestly, last I saw them, I don't think they're missing anything ever again." He slips into the low entrance, ducking his head. "And this'll get us home, and that's about all I care about just now."

Corian pauses a beat. "That is true, Abrarians are hardly a widespread group. This could be... their ship." And, yes, she does follow, though still a bit hesitantly, carefully pulling the hatch behind her, though not -quite- closing it. "Cha'trez... will this really work?" It's as close as she's going to get, at least until the air is reached.

Tarrant makes a careful survey of the small ship, confirming his thought that it's empty. He then turns to dog down the hatch firmly, nodding. "It should. I doubt they'll have the place blockaded. And even if they do, we can sneak around them in this tiny puppy." He tugs the parka's hood down and clambers to the cockpit, sliding into the pilot's seat where he begins warming up the board. "Ooh, and it's decked out a treat. I wonder if I can convince Gardner -this- followed me home." He's got no clue how discomfited you are. It's a -toy-!

Corian slides into the co-pilot's seat after a moment or three, though she watches you. Finally, she asks, rather slowly, "Cha'trez, -can- you fly this? Have you done something like this before?" And, yes, she can't help but sound just a little nervous. She trusts you, of course, but, well, she also knows you and toys, and doesn't want to end up a bucket o' Corian bits (tm).

Tarrant blinks up from the board a moment to give you a terribly solemn look and a slow nod. "Of course love. I'm fully instrument rated on Microsoft Flight Simulator. I even beat the extra mission, where you had to blow up the Gamarrian warship with a crop duster!"

Now, see, poor Corian is very tired, and there's a moment of sheer terror where she really does believe this is all the flying you've done. It is, fortunately, a very quick moment, and not much reflected in her except in her eyes, and in a sudden, rather noticeable tensing. She does relax after that moment, though, shaking her head and even managing a quiet laugh. "I am certain that I will find that comment much more entertaining when we are safely home." She rubs at one eye for a moment, then inquires, "Are we going to try now, then? And is there anything that I can do to help? I could watch numbers, if you tell me what I should be seeing."

Tarrant looks purely innocent, until he realizes you didn't catch on immediately, and he droops a bit with a murmur of apology as he turns to tap at the board further. "Just belt in and doss in for a bot of sleep. We'll be back before you know it."

Corian shakes her head. No, no, nothing doing. She may let you break trail, but she's not going to sleep until you do. "I can keep you company, at least," she offers quietly, with a shake of her head for the apology. "And there is no need for you to apologize, cha'trez. I just misunderstood. My thoughts are rather slow, perhaps it is the cold." She does belt in, at least, careful of the various fastenings on the harness.

Tarrant is kind enough, and well that danged cold, that one of the first things he keys on is the heat. He retains the parka, but both gloves are discarded, and after a few moments of tinkering the ship whirrs into life. "Thankfully it's got a device to mask us to the lower tech radar here. We can get out without permission." And he sets about doing just that, sneaking the ship into the atmosphere. There's only the occasional rough spot, and that seems to be from the fact his fingers are barely responsive, and not from a lack of skill in this department.

Corian is, of course, very pleased with the addition of warmth into her world, and murmurs a thankyou. "It is convenient," she adds, "That we managed to chance upon an Abrarian -smugglers'- ship, of all things. I cannot help but wonder if they have any odd cargo secreted about the ship." Of course, she's also not going to go -check-, not while the ship is moving.

"I would be betting it was the folks on the planet with us, considering the traps on the door." Tarrant's eyes are on the board as he computes the complicated course for the hyperspace jump. "I'm not sure I wanna know what they've got in here." And he's too tired to check as well. "Prepare for hyper..."

Corian tugs lightly on the harness and sits all the way back in the chair at those particular words, then nods, though her head is resting against the back of the seat as well. "Check," she says quietly, with a nod and a hint of a grimace for the words about the ship's contents. "This could be interesting," she adds, mostly to herself.

Snap, whirr...bloomph...like living in a lava lamp, the transition to hyper is predictable for such a thing on a small ship. Moments later the warning bells have clanged, and full hyper is achieved. "Hoo boy," Tarrant murmurs quietly, fingers fumbling briefly before he begins setting the ship on course. "Now we've got a couple of hours."

Corian nods an affirmative to that, eyes closing briefly, before she offers a smile towards you. "You really are quite resourceful, cha'trez. I should have known. Thank you. Soon we will be home, and that is truly a goodness."

Tarrant returns the smile rather sheepishly, before bringing his eyes to the board. "Home indeed. Sorry for teasing you earlier dear, I'm afraid I'm not thinking as straight as I possibly could be." He hmms quietly and settles in for the long trick.

Corian shakes her head quickly. "I do not know that either of us are thinking very well, cha'trez. Ordinarily, I am certain that I would have been more amused by the comment. There is no need to apologize, though." With a bit of a twist in her seat, she reaches over in an attempt to claim your hand, though, again, fingers aren't all that thrilled with the concept of tightening around said hand. "Maybe we should try and get some sleep? Will the ship alert us if it needs attention?"

Tarrant squeezes back as best he can, but his hands are not working especially well either. He shakes his head slightly, "I don't know how to set this model into autopilot. I'm going to have to kidsit it I'm afraid. It won't be but a couple hours. You can sleep though, and then I can sleep on my feet while you scare the department a lot. See, a trade."

Corian considers that for a long moment, then peers briefly at the buttons. No, one of them doesn't somehow and mystically say 'autopilot.' But there is a good point. She needs to be awake to scare the department. "I will find you a chair before I start to scare the department," she says. "So you need not sleep on your feet."

"Sounds wonderful to me, guiding star of my heart." Yep, Tarrant's tired. He's getting sappier. It's a standard side effect. He's happily tired though, home going is due. "The chair there can knock back, or there should be a bed of sorts behind that first bulkhead."

Corian apparently decides to opt for staying in the chair, as that involves staying near you, see, and she likes that. After a bit of fumbling, she finds the appropriate button, and gets the chair to lean back. The sappy comment gets an utterly sweet smile, and she murmurs a vague goodnight before she closes her eyes, and is asleep in all but a heartbeat.

Tinkerbell flies through, and the sound to turn the page chimes. Actually, that's the bell indicating arrival in port some hours later and Tarrant leans over to gently nudge you. "Hon," he rasps softly, tired, still mostly frozen, and feeling predictably scruffy. He sounds terribly pleased though. "We're home."

Corian goes from all but dead to the world to wide awake at those words, gray eyes opening and then blinking briefly. "Home is good," she says, with vast understatement, as she sits up and locks the chair in place. "Warmth, and a hot shower, oh, goodness, home is -very- good."

Tarrant unbuckles from his seat, "The department's gonna take care of the ship. Let's just get out of here. And get that shower, and food. Food." Yes, Tarrant has priorities. To heck with mud, there's such a think as food. "Food and a -vacation-..." Yes, a couple hours in hyperspace and he's locked into repetetive concepts. He's happy with the repetetive concepts though.

Corian takes a moment to achieve as much coherency as is going to happen, then unbuckles her own harness, getting to her feet with a bit of a wince as various muscles protest. "Food, now there is a thought. -Hot- food, food that does not involve ration bars, even. What a glorious concept. And we are most certainly going to get a vacation," she adds, moving over to do her best to claim a hand. No, she leaves it attached to the arm.

Tarrant climbs to his feet, although it takes him a moment to make sure that one knee is bending right. It is, it's just slow. He's more than willing to have a hand claimed, and with a tap shuts down the ship. "Hot food," he agrees wholeheartedly. "And we can turn the heat up at home."

"That is another wonderful idea," Corian murmurs, starting for the great egress. This way! "It is a shame that we do not have some form of remote thermostat. -That- would truly be a wonderful thing."

Tarrant flashes a bright grin, if a sleepy one, at that. He too egresses, snapping the hatch down as egression occurs. "Ooh, yeah. You're not even kidding that would be nice. We'll have to try that. It would be really -neat-..." Yes, even completely out of it, the thought of a gadget pleases him.

You walk towards the Spaceport.

Spaceport

Chaos reigns supreme throughout this large spaceport; people, baggage, sundry cargo moving at a non-stop pace. Carts darting here and there through the crowds. Decor is early bureaucrat, designed more for efficiency than aesthetics. The ground is covered in dark grey stone, embedded into the stone are networks of paths, illuminated on either side by red glowing lights that lead to the cargo area, baggage claim, and of course the shuttlepads themselves.These are to found on the far side of the spaceport, circles outlined lined in bold yellow lights. Once it is safe to approach a shuttle, a pathway of red lights lead to the door.

Obvious exits:

Atrium Quarantine Infobooth Baggage Claim

[Various travelspam to the atrium deleted, where are Clara and Greer.]

Corian can't help but laugh quietly at the comment. See, she knew that would be the reaction--or, at least, she hoped. "Maybe we can see about that during our vacation," she suggests. "That would be worthwhile--though I would be in favor of not taking such an assignment again if we can possibly avoid it." Yes, she looks rather disturbing, but at least she's stopped shivering.

Oh look! It's walking mud! Can mud and motor oil walk? Apparently, yes, it can. Tarrant is -coated- in slime, ick, mud, and probably layers of things one doesn't want to think about. "Oooh, vacation, food, warm..." Yes, Tarrant sounds like a raspy broken record, but he's a -cheerful- one.

Greer is moving very quickly indeed as she runs into the atrium at top speed, Murray in one hand, a bag with the toy store logo in the other. She's yelling gleefully in that way children do when they're boisterous and happy, and dodging between adults. Right up until her foot hits a small patch of dripped... let's hope it's mud... and she skids, surprise on her face, right towards poor Clara.

Why, oh why does Clara choose these times to come home from the bookstore? She hikes in from the Pavilion, baseball cap pulled low over her eyes so that it's easy to miss most everything. Everything except an incoming inter-atrium ballistic seven-year-old. "Gaaaiyiii!" is the creative response as the armful of books goes flying and she attempts to catch the girl, then blinks past at the mud and oil covered apparitions, eyes wide. "Oh, -wow-...Oh, wow! You're home!"

Corian does, yes, look a fright, and the reactions--well, and the flying child--seem to bring this to mind once more. Well, that and the relative warmth. She even pulls off her gloves, tucking them somewhere. "Greer, are you all right, chernubia?" There's a pause, and a nod to Clara. "We are that, yes. It is... very good to be home." Hello, understatement, this is Corian. She knows you quite well.

Ooh, cute small child, and a Clara! Things Tarrant recognizes. He blinks a few moments, tucking his own stained hands into the pockets of the torn parka. "Evening Clara, Miss Greer." He sounds sheepish, and out of it, but vastly amused. "Home indeed, finally." He sounds very pleased to announce. "There's no ice. No Scruffy either, but hey, no ice is worth it."

Greer is, thankfully, light, and easily caught, though it takes some wrapping of arms around the doctor- not for a second does she release her belongings. "Oh! Doctor Clara! I'm so so so sorr-" Her gaze has been following the doctor's, and now she blinks. Recognizing the endearment, she beams. "Corian? Corian! En-tran-zia volecta! I'm fine!" And she blinks and giggles at Tarrant too. "Uh uh. You can't call me Miss Greer if I can't call you Mister Czolgosz!" She holds up the moose. "Murray says it's nice to see you again!"

Clara seems all set to fly over and hug both of the Czolgosz's until it dawns on her that she has an armful of child and that mud is a rather contagious thing. She does meander over, books forgotten, with a vastly bright grin. "No worries, sweetling, I wasn't watching," she assures Greer, then beams at the couple. "You -had- to have just gotten home. Were you on the way to Medbay? Where does it hurt?" she automatically wants to know. Yes, she's trying to peer at Tarrant's knees.

Corian offers Greer the proper reply in Kashidian. It's automatic, and obviously so; she's running mostly on autopilot--or maybe that's autoCorian--just now, though she's still pleasant. Or maybe the pleasantness is part of the autopilot. She does quirk a smile at Greer's words. "She has a point, cha'trez," she murmurs, before shaking her head to Clara. "Actually, we were on our way to discuss vacation time with our employers." And she remains as pleasant as ever--well, mostly. There's just a hint of steel in her gray eyes, for a moment. Yup, she is -going- to get a vacation. Well, that or she'll inflict Grievous Bodily Harm upon her employers.

"In my pride," Tarrant replies in a tone that is -trying- to be deeply mournful, but the exhausted snicker fighting through is spoiling the effect. "I think it's wounded beyond saving, doc." He offers Greer a grin and a brief wave to Murray, "Nice to see you again as well Murray." There's a sniffle. Aww, is he missing Scruffy again? Or just defrosting maybe... "Ooh, vacation..." he's easily distracted.

Greer trots along happily beside Clara, still grinning. "You're a mess," she notes with a cheerful wrinkling of her nose, cocking her head to look up at Corian and Tarrant. "Where ya been? Everybody missed you! Especially you, Corian. You got old friends coming allll the way here just to see you, did you know that? Nice friends. How'd you get all covered with that stuff? Were you working on an engine? Did your ship break down? That's not fun, not at the right time." Murray does a little dance. He's happy. "I thought you were already on vacation? It looks like you had fun, even if you did get dirty."

"I don't think busted egos are quite anything my resonators can handle," Clara decides with a delighted laugh, then has to fall quiet at the barrage of questions from Greer, beaming as the child rattles them out. Just because she wouldn't ask them just yet doesn't mean she's not curious. "You two look like you could benefit from long hot showers, and for someone to have hot food sent up to your apartment, and to sleep yourselves out."

Corian sidles a step closer to Tarrant at the sniffle, slipping an arm around him. See, if they're both filthy--and not filky, eep--then neither have to worry about clothing. At Greer's questions, she blinks, her free hand lifting in a warding gesture. "We were off-world, chernubia." Duh. "And which old friends visited, please, dear? I need to know whether or not I should hide from them." There's a quirked smile, and she shakes her head. "We were working, actually, though -now- we can have a vacation. And, no, our ship did not break down." Mainly because they didn't have one, and pinched someone else's, but that's another story. Clara gets a nod, and a look of decided agreement. "I would have to agree with all of the above. Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow to see about that vacation, cha'trez?" she inquires of Tarrant. "Though our appearances would certainly count for something, if we went now."

Tarrant can't help but look decidedly hopeful at Clara's suggestion. These are amazing words. "Food? Sleep?" Bed. Baby. Wood! Okay, not exactly, but close. "Our ship," oh he's claimed the toy now? "Worked fine though thankfully. It was a good ship. We could call -it- Scruffy." Oh yeah, he's making sense. "Tomorrow is a good idea. Food...Sleep..." A Jedi needs not these things, so sign Tarrant up for the Dark Side. He grins, "It was an interesting trip. I found the -best- ice cream. We'll have to find some here. Caramel and butterscotch and toffee."

Greer's eyes widen. "Caramel and butterscotch... Mister Niko'll like that... and toffee?" She's not -quite- drooling. "That sounds almost as good as -chocolate-." She beams up at Corian proudly. "Well, just one, I saw. Josif! I can't remember his last name," she adds apologetically. "But he's got -blue- hair. And he -juggles-!" This poor kid, so many heroes. "You don't wanna hide from him. He's -neat-, even if he does make funny faces when people talk about Riley. And he likes playgrounds," she adds, glancing toward Tarrant. "You'll like him too, I promise." The child blinks, and blushes. "You need food?" She steps closer to Clara, embarrassed for her mouth running away with her.

Never mind Niko. Just dip him in the stuff and deliver him to Ela, actually. "Josif Er'dan," Clara confirms easily, grinning. "He really is a cheerful person, I have to agree," she adds approvingly, slipping an arm over Greer's shoulders. "I have a message for you from him at home. I'll deliver it tomorrow though. Tonight, I'm hereby not-ordering you both to go enjoy being home." She pauses a moment. "Scruffy?" Then a shake of her head. "Never mind. Tell me tomorrow, or something. I can track you down for dinner or whatnot."

Corian starts to steer Tarrant towards the elevator, even though she's going to use the stairs exit. "Come on, cha'trez," she murmurs. "Let us go upstairs and find warmth. We can deal with Scruffy later." Greer gets a vaguely startled look. Corian is moving slowly, so this is feasible. "Josif?" See, the mention of his reaction to Riley was enough, she didn't need a last name. "Oh, goodness, it has been -ages- since I have seen him. His hair is blue, now? How lovely." She flickers a smile to Clara, nodding. "I will come find you about the message, when I am awake." As opposed to when she's asleep, yeah.

"If he's a friend of Corian's I'm sure I will," Tarrant agrees with Greer, grinning in a bemused if rather dazed fashion. He's more than willing to be steered towards the elevator however, offering a vague wave to the others and murmuring in Millian. Whoops, there's a pause and he tries again. "Goodnight ladies, it's a good thing to see you both again."

Greer beams, and waves wildly. "Doctor Clara's right, it's Er'dan. Oh, you will, Tarrant, you will! You got lots in common with him." She wraps her arms around moose and toy store bag, grinning after the pair. "Good night! Don't let the bed bugs bite!"

Clara offers a wave after the couple as well, entirely thrilled to see them home despite the begrimed state. The gossip and details can wait till on the 'morrow though. "You and he are both children," she points out to Tarrant with a grin. "Shoo, both of you. Rest well," she calls after, then grins down at the girl. "Now you, implet, can help me pick up my books and let me walk you home, hmm?"

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian murmurs a good night as well, though she pauses. "I thought we left the bugs behind," she murmurs, bemused, before stepping into the elevator. Really.

[Travelspam home deleted.]

Tarrant drops his pack near the door, and carefully sheds the parka. He offers to take yours as well. "Water, bed..."

Corian tugs off her parka as well, and drops her pack, though not in that order. She hands over the parka, adding, "Food, as well, cha'trez. We need to eat. Though eating -quickly- would be nice, as water and bed sound so much better than that."

"Maybe water before food? Being clean to eat would be nice," Tarrant tugs the stuffed toy from the pack, holding it carefully away from himself and the grime.

Corian nods a prompt affirmative to that, already starting to pull off filthy clothing as if she can't stand to wear it any longer than she already has. "That sounds like a good idea," she agrees, moving to toss filthy clothing into a laundry chute. Nasty notes, yup. (But she's always been so kind to clothing! What have we done?) Corian's bear waves to the other stuffed toy. Yay, a friend!

Tarrant peels off burnt sweaters and felt layers, down to a bare chest. He's bruised, but not so much as a scorchmark is present despite the fried nature of his clothing. It's good to be hard to burn. The stuffed toy is placed on the bed, "You can have the first go," he offers.

It is a sign of how tired--and, likely, how wanting to be clean--Corian is that she suggests, "Or we could just share, then neither of us would have to wait."

Tarrant blinks a moment and then nods amiably enough. He wants to be clean, and he wants to get warm water. "Sounds like an idea. Water, then food, and sleep."

Corian heads into the bathroom, then, and starts the water running. "Warm. Home is such a wonderful place. I cannot help but pity the poor people who -live- on Alvand."

Tarrant pads in afterwards, peeling off boots and the rest of his offensive clothing. "They like it though, it seems. Probably built for it, like we're not."

Corian is, yes, already evil and in the water, as it's -warm-, and her expression is decidedly blissful. "Perhaps they are," she agrees. "But we are not, and so I think that we should not go there again."

Tarrant clambers into the water as well, working to rid himself of the grime. "Never ever ever ever." He agrees with a yawn. "Want me to get your back?"

Corian murmurs a vague agreement. "And then I can get yours, if you like."

"Sure," Tarrant brings soapy hands to your back, first scrubbing and then managing to get still stiff fingers into a position to rub at your shoulders. See, he's trying to be helpful. He's also very happy now that the overriding smell is of soap and not of muck. "Or maybe we could get food and sleep. And yeah...warm blankets."

Corian returns the scrubbing favor, though not without some yawns. "Food, and warm, yes, very good." Aie, abuse of commas. "Sleep. I plan to sleep for -quite- some time."

Tarrant gets rinsed off and ducks out. He turns back holding out a warm towel, offering to envelop you in it. "A long, long...time. Sleep, yeah. Long...--" He trails off to yawn. Maybe food can just wait.

Corian seems willing to wait on food as well, as she steps into the towel with a murmur of thanks and a -very- grateful look. She just looks exhausted at this point, though she snags a towel and offers it to you before starting for the outer room. There, she rummages for something to sleep in, probably something along the lines of an oversized shirt.

Tarrant towels off, his hair actually looking red again as it dries instead of the muted dirt color. He rummages for a battered pair of sweatshorts, and does not bother to search out a shirt, he's too tired. Padding over to the bed he turns it down, to allow easy entrance. "Home..."

Corian all but drops onto the bed, sliding under the covers once she's there. "Home," she echoes. "Good night, cha'trez, chiat'a bei kruzon."

Tarrant clambers under the covers after you, curling up as close as he can manage with a protective arm around you. "Night..." It's a soft murmur at best, and in Millian, and he's out cold. Or warm. or something.

Corian just takes a moment to cuddle up a little closer to you, and then she, too, is gone, out, asleep, whatever word we want to use.

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