Xia was fucked up...senses wise from the drinking. I mean, she could function enough to get home and to fight but she risked throwing up. Tipsy enough to not really care if she was to have a fling but still picky about who she'd do it with. Now outside because of the chaos with the people and the sirens heard.

Maybe it was time to call it a night. Sirens usually meant that the party was over but she still was not ready to call it a night yet. She wasn't ready to just go back home and bullshit, no. Maybe she could see what the others were going to do after this. Thinking about this, Xia was walking away, she was no help no one right now and she'd have to be forgiven if someone was in trouble and she couldn't lift a finger to help.

Walking in the direction home, Xia noticed someone walking away from the crowd as well. Wait...was that-....is that...yes it was, the boy-girl, She didn't like to refer to saying that but that's the way she could describe it, was leaving as well. Curiously, Xia watched from a few yards away, feeling she didn't get a chance to really talk to her much back at the Swan Songs.

She wondered if this girl was willing to continue some random fuckery so, she shrugged and called out. Hey! Is the party really over for you!? She called out and walked over to her to get her attention. I'm the one from the bar earlier.
Was wanting to know if you wanna go have some fun somewhere else for a bit? I'm Xia by the way... Hopefully not sounding corny but hey, usually people came to her, not the other way around.

@Monacho

Hey! Is the party really over for you!? The words cut crisply through her mind, interrupting the serious internal argument Olin had going on. Her thoughts - for some strange reason - didn't exactly want to cooperate with themselves, and she was sure that if any of the bystanders she passed happened to be telepathic the both of them would be put in an Institution. She paused her stroll before looking back with squinted eyes.

She could make out the figure. Had she been at the...? Olin had no time to ask, as the woman explained herself. She cocked her head the slightest afterwards. Xia. Huh, that was her name. And Xia also seemed to be quite the lightweight. Although she didn't seem drunk, some tipsyness began to show, and Olin harbored some obvious reluctance. Though as a wiseman once said, "Getting into shit is better with someone else."

That she was sure of. Plus, she figured the woman's age could come in useful if any drastic situations occured.

Olin grinned the slightest before licking her lips, thinking over what could be any worse than getting drenched by sprinklers. After a while she shrugged, throwing her hands up, "The night's never over. I was thinking about drying off at my place, then hitting up a few spots."

"Promise I won't kill you, or steal your organs," She ran a finger through her hair, before quickly adding. "Olin. But call me whatever you want."

Of course she didn't care to go into what things usually entailed when hanging-out with her. She reasoned that Xia seemed more mature, and was still lucid enough to make her own decisions. And Olin was never quite the one to push the more 'experimentive' parts of her life on others. She didn't exactly wait for the other to accept the request before beginning on her journey once again. They were already a little past the half-way point, so there was no time for idle conversations, especially with the added risk of illness.

Though she wasn't heartless. She slowed down her pace the slightest, before
looking over her shoulder in a way to reassure the other was still free to tag along.

---

@King Tai

Well at least she stopped. And sort of stayed still long enough for Xia to introduce herself. The question that was burning into Xia's mind was: Would this person be interested enough to just chill out with her and just do something random? Well, after waiting a moment, she got her response, which brought a smile to her face.

Awesome. The night was not over. Hearing her speak about heading to her place and hitting a few spots, Xia was down for that. I mean, tonight was fine. Interesting experience at this Jazz thing but it's been a while since she's club hopped.

There was a raise of the eyebrow upon hearing the girl's next comment about not killing her and taking out her organs. An expression of wanting to answer that challenge came upon her face. That name, Olin. Interesting...cute...damn sure never heard of that kind of name before but then again, Xia was not common either.

Oh really? Even if you were to try hun, it won't be that easy. You'll get a real fuckin' fight out of me. Hell...you might even like it. But I'm sure there's plenty of other ways we could charm each other. Xia responded with a weak smile while adjusting her wet jacket.

Seeing Olin walking away. Xia didn't know if this was out of having no interest or that she was signaling to come with her but Xia followed anyway and quickened her pace to walk with her side by side. Looking at her sort of new acquaintance, Xia turned her head back looking straight Nice to meet you too... Giving a slight smirk.

Something about Olin gave Xia an impression that she was sort of a loose cannon or...well...more like did what she wanted whenever she wanted. Sort of like herself but maybe a little wilder than her or impulsive or simply...just don't give a fuck? She was willing to give her shot. If things didn't work out between them, fuck it. She's had people come and go in her life. Either from her quick temper, just lost contact, or both became fed up with each other or...the person was too boring for Xia to chill with.

Whatever happens after they reach her home, will be all history...

@Monacho

Swan Songs . Monday Evening

---

Marinalia watched the busy traffic unable to move, most of the cars backed up by fire trucks, helicopter, security goons of the trio of cities greatest and most famous asshole. They still had the road barricaded even if thr Sol Fire department had rammed past. The cones and other bits smashed or crushe'd by a multi ton truck with heavy steel bumpers designed just to do that.

It was chaos, and not likely to clear for hours.

OK.. I'm taking a short cut.

I hope this works.

Engaging the low range gears there was a steap rise when the leveled off the car park and gravelled it all, re engine growled as tyres slipped and 4 wheels slowly began to gain traction and claw its way inch by inch over and up the small back road that linked the back of a few large buildings. Sure it was probbly not in the driving rules.

Driving slowly down the back road till she hit the main road turn, phew, no gates and ramming aside a tin trash can and a few bits n voxes with a good clang. Several other 4x4 had decided to copy her and followed through the alley.

Arriving at Ren's building, it was a fairly fancy part of town, it seemed that she had underestimated Ren by a small mile, Victoria noticing the rather nice array of cara and posh buildings.

well, I think you have Suprised us Ren... That's a fancy place. Goodnight. Hopes the hangover is not too bad.

Marinalia smiled, well certainly the Suprise. The people he was originally with including the jealous woman where not badly dressed, designer purses and all. They had money but this was definitely a posher area of town.

well well, there'd a story for later!

Right now I wanna get home... Dry and... Safe.

The last one was definitely priority, after that evening she just wanted to get home, lock the door and curl up in bed. Maybe she had driven back a little fast, but stress and the nights events finaly began to turn to anger, and cursed her own stupidity deciding to do what she did.

see ya another night.. Maybe.


Waving and letting him out unlocking the doors, she headed back to home, arriving back at old harbour.

Old Harbour. Monday Late Evening

Marinalia got back pretty quickly once off the main roads, traffic was not so bad once you got away from the area and old harbour was always quieter. Parking up in what probbly was the old lower levels and headed up locking the truck.

Getting in her first desire after the wet, the disgusting grab she went for a shower, shedding the sodden dress in bathroom and spending a while In the hot, clean water. Marinalia could deal with that later and found a towel before wishing Victoria goodnight and curling up in bed, too overwhelmed to want to anything but sleep, fretfully.

---

Victoria was colder than her sister shivering a few times in thr car on way home, Marilania she could tell was trying and failing to put a brave face on things. Barely able to respond much to Ren after everything and adrenaline of the alarm had worn off.

On way home she saw two women headed back from the event, must have their clothes where wet, no wait it was the woman in the black and white outfit? The guy across the road seemed to be chatting, and others she could see from thr event all trying to find a way home. She definitely owed Milo a drink and lunch after saving her sister like that.

They passed by the window quickly as the swept down the side roads home, main. Routes too busy after the perfect posee or whatever stunt shutting down a key area.

Getting in, she went straight to change, seeing Marinalia head off to shower and let her sister have some time. It had been a rough night and they could talk in the morning.

Changing into a pair of shorts, t shirt and thickest blanket on sofa Victoria flicked on the tv and watched the local news, there antics and events had made the news, viral video and rather grainy pictures galore.

Looking out as Old Harbour river glittered in the lights, boats slowly passed and enjoyed the calm and ease after a few very stressful moments at the Jazz night.

Yawning she headed off to bed, still worried for Marinalia now with the apartment door well locked and even the alarm set unlike normal. Events shook deeper, and took time to show.

---

@King Tai@Monacho@Pilatus@RoccanIronclad@Jay Kalton@Furiosa@Rabidporcupine

Ugh, after the car trip with Marlin behind the wheel, Ren felt like he was going to throw up. But at least they'd been able to get home quickly.

"The building? Right, yeah, well... It's alright. T-thanks for the -ugh- ride... See you around."

He managed to spit out, before rushing out of the car. Back in his apartment Ren was more exhausted than he could remember being in a long time. What a night. His memories flashed back to the mysterious blonde man who'd jumped him from the stage.@Aladdin_Sane Why on earth would he kiss me... It's not like I'm- He sighed. Ren didn't know what he was, nor did he intend to find out that evening. He was grateful for Marlin who'd kept him company that night. She was fun to be around.@PrinceAlexus Maybe I should've asked for her number...

Changing into his pyjamas, Ren was quickly finished with his night time routine and fell down face first onto his bed. Please let me fall asleep quickly tonight... Luckily, he did.

---

@Rabidporcupine@SouffleGirl123@RoccanIronclad@Monacho@Jay Kalton@PrinceAlexus@PrinceAlexus@TwelveOf8@Pilatus@Robo27@Desparadina@Voltus_Ventus@Furiosa@aladdin_sane@King Tai@RawrEspada4@alexfangtalon

Old Harbour . Wensday Evening

---

Victoria was had been busy that day, a company website had broken and they needed it fixed yesterday. 5 hours work and a few broken code sections repaired and Victoria had made 400 dollers once you counted in the taxes and fees at the bank. Not a bad days work. Pay was great but was highly intermittent and this could be one job or 10 this month.

Marilania had been pretty quiet, in the morning and struggled with the the events, work hasd her see a doctor, police, duty reassignment. It had been a busy day. Marlin always was the same and distracted herself with work volunteering for a night shift at the cargo airport.

It was not healthy but her sister, was her sister and she would not change for anyone.

Watching the sun set, Victoria was bored, and the apartment was lonely flicking off a awful film of Sarah the amazon vs the lesbian vampires, maybe Milo would be about, Ren, Marilania had made a few freinds and she could always be abit cheeky and get to know em.

Getting dressed, she barely had bothered to get changed out of shorts and a t shirt all day, perks of working from home and changed into a nicer dress, coat and a pair of Comfey kitten heals.

Sol City . Wensday Evening

Wandering slowly out into the bustling city, it was busy but a week night and everyone was busy getting home or heading out. No one noticed a small pale woman with a walking stick and looked out over centre point. The place was bustling, lively.

The sun was dipping below the sky casting the last of the days light over the upper windows, it had a look of its own you could not discribe. It felt nice to get out and about, there had to be somthing going on and looked out for a event or some place to go enjoy a few hours out of the house.

Milo took the next day off from his work, luckily working for himself lets him have that kind of choice. However he did get back to it as the days passed and the pain in his leg had subsided. Every once and while throughout the day he called back to the jazz night he had attended and the travesty that it had been, but the night had still left him a few good things, the card he now had with Victoria's information on it and the memory of the small kiss on the cheek, not one to usually get distracted, Milo jumped when his hammer missed the steel and clanged loudly on the anvil. He set the hammer down and went back to his apartment, not much else to do.



Milo spent the majority of his day finishing a few pieces that had been contracted by some men out east, swordsmen that were in a competition circuit, much like he used to. When the blade was done he looked it over, a german longsword, his favorite, yet nothing like the one he made for himself, he gave it a few swings, checked the edge, the balance, then it was packed away to be shipped.... Milo had never been to the post office.... that was the one thing that he had to make sure he had looked for this week, instead he went to a party, this was not the week he had planned for.



Milo got on his bike with three long boxes strapped to his back, he took off down the road to try and find the post office, what a mess. He rode his bike towards the area he believed he had seen town hall, post offices are usually nearby, or at least a fedex or something, who knows, this was exactly how he had gotten into a mess the other day, maybe the city would lead him to another.

Joseph, as often seemed to be the case these days, was lost. He may have talent in many areas, but direction was not one of them. In fact, as with but about all skill sets he lacked, it seemed like nature had actively pulled from them to fuel the few he actually had. Not only that, it had pulled way more than it had given, which was why while searching for the warehouses by the docks snowgirl had told him about, he somehow wound up in an area quite distinctly not filled with warehouses. In fact, it was a pretty nice side of town. The journey itself had taken pretty much all of Tuesday, as he found himself not being able to walk as quickly as usual due to lack of food.

Which brought him to his second predicament.

He was pretty much starving.

At this point, it had been about a week since his last meal, and it was whining to take a real toll on him. Sure, he could've perhaps begged or something and maybe have gotten enough money to buy something, but he was way to nervous to do that. People would be judging him every time they have him anything, and despite his outburst at the Swansong the other night, he was usually not the kind of person who coped well with confrontation.

Either way, it didn't matter too much now. He doubted anyone here would offer him much in the way of money or food. Sure, there was a possibility he might strike it lucky and run into one of the nice ones like snowgirl, but with his luck, it'd probably be someone like Castro again.

Then again, it probably wasnt going to matter much anyway, considering his legs just have out. His eyes widened as he came to this realisation, right before he collided with the footpath.

Despite the pain, however, he merely chuckled for a moment, before sighing and rolling himself into his back, staring up at the sky.

"How long has it been since I last collapsed?" He muttered to himself. "I don't think this has happened since my first year wandering..."

He sighed again, as he looked to the building he'd collapsed directly in front of.

Well, he sure hoped the rich folk inside were some of the kind ones, otherwise his wandering may very well come to an end right there!

@Furiosa

The past few days were a blur to Kei. Aside from the mess that was Swan's Song Monday night, his eveyryday life seemed to go right back to normal, it was without a doubt typical for Kei's daily life to return to normal without a hitch despite recent events. His day was as normal as ever. He went to his classes as he did every Wednesday. They were as boring as ever, as always though he was a hermit and really did not converse with anyone within his classes. Each and every lecture he attended during the day was as uninteresting as ever and were not really able to keep his attention long enough to stay awake. While he wasn't trying to be rude in any way he just could not help falling asleep in front of his lecturing professors during the day. As his classes came to a close around lunch time he let out a load sigh of relief within his last class of the day, attracting the attention of some of the other students that were also attending the lecture.

Realizing the amount of attention he was getting he quickly settled himself down and quickly gathered his belongings in order to rush out of the class room to avoid the awkward situation he had created. With everything gathered and put into his bag he quikcly got up from his seat and rushed out the door, not letting anyone say a word to him. Once he was out the doors of the classroom he let out another sigh of relief but this time quieter and in a more discrete fashion. As he began walking down the halls, he could hear all the chattering of various students. Without meaning to he would listen on other students' conversations hearing various topics that ranged from school work, to what they had for dinner the other night, to how great the party was from the other night. It was a treasure trove of normie conversation, something that he was not super well versed in. As such without missing a beat he was out the doors of the classroom building and already headed to the parking lot where he had parked his car.

Seeing as it was lunch time, Kei figured that it was the perfect time to go and pick up something to eat in order to avoid his own stomach eating itself. As he felt the grumble of his stomach echo all throughout his body he hastily shifted his car into gear and took off from the parking area, setting off a car alarm or two due to his loud satisfying engine.

While the drive was not a long drive, the wait was gruelling simply because it was lunch rush hour and it was hard to go somewhere to eat without having to wait in a line of cars or people depending where Kei went. He ended up settling for a small little sandwhich shop close to home. Seeing as it was a bit of a hole in the wall type of shop he was able to get a sandwhich in decent time. Just in time to appease the gods that resided deep within his inner guts.

He took his time in enjoying his meal. After all he had no other plans after lunch so spending as much time as possible on just eating alone was a good pass time for him. Sadly no moment could last forever and as such he was finished eating his food well within thirty minutes of getting it. Seeing as he was able to appease the oh so benevolent gods within his stomach, he let out a grunt of satisfaction as he got up from his seat. Once he gathered all his trash together he went ahead and tossed all of it in a designated trash can and recycled any piece of recycleable material into their respective bins as well. With it all said and done, he started towards where he left his car, but as he was walking his secondary work phone went off in his pocket. Stopping where he was he dug into his pocket and pulled out the phone from it. Seeing as it was his burner phone he flipped it open and read the contents of the message. It was a simple message and one that meant he had some work to do tonight. The message read『Need a tasting done, meet at the Arcade』Kei's face went from being satisfied to being somewhat annoyed, he was hoping to not have to do this again but there it was, his wares were being requested and he really couldn't just deny the request, after all he made a name for himself. With a sigh of acceptance he began typing away at the little t9 keyboard.『I'll be there.』Once he confirmed that the message was sent he went ahead and removed the battery cover, took the battery out, and slid the sim card out. First he broke the sim card intop pieces, and then with the phone in hand he snapped it right in half and tossed it into the river.

Once he was back in his car, he immediately went home, switched cars to a more discrete vehcile and made his way to a storage unit that he rented out near his home. Upon arrival he navigated the maze like halls of the storage area until he was standing in front of his own unit. After unlocking it, he let himself in and closed the door behind him. This is where he spent the next few hours until it was evening and almost time to meet with his contact.

---

Joel was not in the finest of moods. He’d slept for most of the day again, but his rest had been fitful. It happened from time to time. He’d work for days on end and his body would compliantly adjust to the lack of sleep by simply producing more time awake. It seemed to be the reverse of most people. He never really burned out; the work merely kept going, pushing him into a near robotic state. Normally the cure was a healthy vacation, some fresh air away from the shop, but that wouldn’t really be an option until the race was over. The car, back at Apex Designs was broken down to several distinct, but highly organized sections. There wasn’t much room for more customer jobs when the Grand Prix neared which was what brought him presently to a small picnic table outside the Lighthouse.

He’d finished a “breakfast” of sorts and was working on a third cup of coffee that steamed in the night air. Sitting on top of the table looking out over the expanse of the river he could see the lights of the Matthews Bridge to the south and in the distance to the north the glow of Center Point and it’s skyscrapers reflected against the calm water. Across the way, Western Shore was settling down for the night where most people were relaxing in bed or already asleep. It was quiet save for the beat of the river water and the waning rhythm of night traffic on the bridge. Only a few silver clouds broke up the sky and the moonlight was such that just the faintest of shadows were cast behind Joel and the car parked behind him.

Not long after he’d first been in business for himself he’d built a few cars from the ground up to make his mark on the Sol car scene. He’d initially stuck with what he knew best, imports, mostly from Japan, and expanded into higher-end European cars. However, the old notchback, Fox-body Mustang behind him was an exception to all that. It was not refined, nor truly even visually appealing by most standards. It had come to him one day on a rollback with a blown engine, four bald tires and a myriad of other problems. The customer was a railroad accountant who’d only heard of him through word of mouth. The man had spoken very plainly: the goal was to make the fastest car in the city.

Joel regarded him strangely as they’d started the project. He had no children, no wife and rarely spoke of any other extended family throughout the months it had taken Joel to tear down and rebuild the car. When he was finished, only the roof sheet metal was still original, the rest had become no less than a Frankenstein street monster. The Ford crate engine sat back nearly a foot and a half from the stock position, nestled into a custom built firewall and cradled by a modern suspension. Joel had taken care to give it nearly perfect 50/50 weight distribution so that when the mounted supercharger unleashed its full fury the front wheels stayed on the ground. The rear was tubbed out and fortified to accommodate wide street slicks and the massive translation of power. A much bigger braking system and a solid roll-cage were mandatory.

Under the moonlight, the custom painted panels, almost entirely composed of carbon fiber gleaned in ballistic blue chrome each one chopped and curved to make the maximum amount of downforce possible out of the blocky, angular body-style. Both men knew a rear wing would have added more stability over 200mph, but this car devoured its prey much sooner and the wing would have spoiled the look of it. Joel had tuned and built up several Porsche for members of the Icarus Angels, even an odd Ferrari or Lamborghini, but none pulled with the visceral ferocity of this car. It was like driving an explosion and was the only machine that had ever given him a twinge of fear. No matter how much a driver gave it, it merely kept winding. It was nothing more than polished coffin with wheels.

Every year around the same time the owner would hand the key back over to Joel for a thorough tear-down and rebuild inspection before he went out to make his trade for the season. It was a process not dissimilar from the current operation on the 300ZX and like that car there not a single piece of the machine that Joel had not personally touched in one way or another. Though not as rigorous as the Formula GT requirements, Joel had a critical eye for detail. The car had netted him a significant amount of business and keeping it undefeated was good for his name.

As he watched a lone barge pulling steel coils upriver he couldn’t help, but view himself against this terror he’d created and the man who owned it, which, as he knew, was the main source of his discontent.

Somewhere in his mind Joel saw himself being much like this man. Sure, he wasn’t an accountant, he was a mechanic and a damn good one, but maybe that guy was a damn good accountant. He seemed like it from all their past conversations. He had this Mustang and Joel had the 300. After that neither one was married. The man had several years on him, but Joel had no prospects presently. Sure his parent’s lived close by on the Western Shore, but that was it. Growing older and having nothing but a damn racecar to take credit for, even if they won Grand Prix, felt very empty sometimes. He shook his head a little. He honestly didn’t know what else he’d rather be doing. He glanced back at the car thinking another pass over the bridge might clear his head a little.

---

Old Sol Airport . Wednesday Evening

Marilania was Sat at the cargo desk, it had been a pretty slow day and most of the customers where just there to collect and go. After recent events and the actions of the jazz night the company had insisted she was transferred to light duties and one of there doctors check her out for whatever the drug was. You could never be too careful and was waiting for her blood tests to be approved flight status again.

All in all thr company had looked after her well and had been kind, most of the staff here where junior admin, cargo side, and a fellow aviator who had a broken ankle and was on light duties too.

Sitting back after handing over a package to a polite woman and logging it, she watched out window as jets took off and roar of emerges echoes over for miles. Flying was a big part of her and it felt odd to watch with feet on ground instead of Freedom of the air.

Having time to think was both good and bad. The shock had taken time to hit, at first she was numb then she relised how close everything had come, the danger and risks. Her father had brought the point home though stopped shot of judging her, supportive and kinder than normal, there relationship had improved alot since she was 18 when they first met.

Shaking her head she cast aside the thoughts as someone entered the cargo office.

---

Everything about the interior of the Mustang was reduced down to the lowest denominator and startup required independent activation of major components from a small pedestal next to the shifter and on the rollcage mounted overhead. With acceptance of the key, one switch activated the battery then another for the fuel pump. Joel watched the pressure come up as other buttons began to glow softly for attention. A police scanner strapped to the cage crackled to life reporting a fight in progress at the 501 Club, a stopped car was on the shoulder of I-23 near the 923 Connection and someone had phoned in a domestic call farther up Southside Boulevard. It was a pretty quiet night overall on the southern band. Joel’s thumb hovered over the ignition switch briefly. He glanced around in the darkness before depressing the button, sending a short impulse of electricity that summoned the engine to life. Flames burst from the side mounted exhaust and the ground shook with the low churning rhythm that followed.

The plate was the standard Sol City registration reading “MSTKHSS” or Mystic Hiss. Joel thought it was silly, but still a little catchy. The car had never been a Cobra Mustang, but considering the amount of money expended, the man could call it whatever he wanted. Joel eased through the sequential gearbox as he approached the ramp for the bridge. A small display behind the steering wheel reported on various engine parameters and clutch operation. It was one of Joel’s personal touches that he added to all his built street machines as it cleaned up the dash of numerous needle and dial style gauge clusters and condensed the majority of reporting to a single, easy to use, digital unit. It even flashed the Apex Designs logo when turned on.

A quick signal and a lane change put him on the long, ascending ramp towards the bridge. The sparse night traffic seemed to instinctively react by moving aside as they eased up the curving slope. He set the proper gear and RPM range and glanced down briefly at the display to see the affirmative “LAUNCH” command blinking as it sensed all systems in order for a rolling start. The racing seat prevented a good look back and he leaned against the belts to inspect the side mirror carefully as he moved to the left lane. Joel began to feel his pulse beat as he crossed over the four lanes. First one a single car and a few more in the distance, second empty mostly clear ahead, third a tractor-trailer a few lengths back. All ahead looked clear in the left. The trucker flashed his lights in affirmation preparing to enjoy the show.

Without another thought Joel stomped the pedal to the floor. The engine roared and the supercharger let loose its banshee-like scream as gallons of air were rammed into the combustion chamber. Neck snapping acceleration held him against the seat as he slammed through two more gears without looking down. He knew he was doing well over a hundred long ago. The bridge joints clapped under him like a drum roll and the lights flashed by like fence-posts on a country road. The end of the bridge was already coming up when he blasted by an unmarked SCPD cruiser on the opposing side of the bridge. The blue lights came up almost immediately, but Joel was already a quarter mile away before the officer could even think about doing a U-turn against traffic. He’d be on the radio for sure. Joel stayed in the pedal.

Standard procedure would be to exit the loop and quickly make his way to his parents’ house in Western Shore where he could hide the car, but he had pulled off that stunt enough times that he was concerned one day an SCPD unit would be waiting in their driveway. He kept going. It was always amazing how much ground one could cover in a short amount of time when they were moving more than double the speed-limit. He knew he had to get off the freeway now. He picked a familiar exit that he knew would be fairly quiet and prayed he could make it through a couple stoplights without being spotted. The sign on the exit ramp simply read: “Solaris County Regional Airport - 6” with a left arrow.

It was late, but the Daedalus Cargo terminal was always open until midnight if one had a pass. After Joel had creeped through the initial traffic off the ramp he’d floored it again to get out of the city as quickly as possible and making the run up the old road had been accomplished in seconds rather than minutes. The supercharger howled as he downshifted and swung up into the parking lot where he whipped around the office building and parked next to a white Land Rover. Though he hadn’t received any texts or calls about any drops for his zone, it was as good a place as any to kill some time until the heat wore off. People here were looking up, not down and he had a few items stored on site that he could check on while he waited.

Being totally familiar, he swiped his security card at the door and casually strolled through the front office. The normal scent of cardboard and hand sanitizer hit him as he looked around. The office was nothing special, mostly utilitarian, but with some nice touches of old airline posters and photos and a few models. It seemed to double as a lounge area for crew-members as well with sofas and a television. He bullshitted with a pilot who had an ankle injury the last time he stopped by and the regular admin staff knew him by his unique shipments of auto parts from Japan. However this time a younger female sat behind the counter that he didn't recognize. He assumed his appearance most likely came off as sketchy at best: a black Bridgestone Motorsport hooded sweatshirt, cargo shorts and sneakers. He also faintly smelled of racing fuel- A reminder that he needed to pull the car around behind the gate and fill up after having traveled much farther than he intended. He and Tommy had already staged a fuel bowser for their testing on Saturday.

He placed his ID card on the counter to hopefully calm any apprehension she might have felt. “What’s up?” He said nicely enough. His nerves were still easing down from the drive. “I’ve got a few things holding in the warehouse, mind if I take a look?”

---

Old Sol Airport . Wednesday Evening

Marinalia's shift was getting to the end of things and beginning to think about heading home, she was not new to the office and had done a few shifts in the training phase at the cargo office. Part office, part lounge and part a little museum of posters and old deadalus nick macks. She had found it on training and did far better coffee than the trainee centre.

From the way staff had treated her kindly, checks and one of the women offering to walk her to her car after work it seemed someone had quietly told them to keep a eye out for her Deadalus seemed not be taking many chances.

Relaxed in a neat shirt, skirt and jacket hung over the top of a chair, one of a few general female deadalus uniforms she had option of and generic company badge. The one difference to other staff was a set of gold wings and a delicate silver necklace dangling down. Tapping away she had left her ring at home having nearly lost it a few times in filing cabinets and such last time. Her name was on a neat ID badge with the company logo, "Marinalia R Olympus, Deadalus cargo,". They had run out of room to put Romus on there and the name was picked out in gold representing flight status.

A stranger was aproaching now, no buzz so they must of had a Id card for the airport, hearing a loud growling sound earlier it seemed that he liked some horsepower.

Turning first to a pair of flight crew sat round a table with a half dozen coffee mugs and boredly waiting for a shuttle to Neo city after there's broke down..

hey got a flight to Neo. Bay 12A. Two seats free on a old DC6.
Flight engineer slots.

Both wished her gruff ly thanks and slowly grabbed there bags walking out the office and heading out to the flight line where the cargo flights and older aircraft oporated. They always had a pilot on duty in regular hours to help arrange flights for crew, expertise useful on ground and air.

A female security guard checked in with her after the incident every so often, it had not been a massive ask and just changed her office she stopped at between patrols of the perimeter fences. Sat reading a newspaper she was just one more employee in the still fairly busy cargo airport and other hangers rented to locals who had aircraft. Fees where alot cheaper than at Sol International.

Turning to the man who aproaching, dressed pretty casually and eyes flared slightly though she had other staff here the past experience had cut deep and slow to heal. Checking the ID carefully, probbly far more carefully than normal for this office. Easing up as the ID was current and matched codes though her English accent was more clipped than normal of late, though did warm slightly as he seemed to be a regular ID and everyone who was had to pass security checks.

sure, Mr Nicolosi. From your card, warehouse 9. Be careful there's a few flights due tonight, 18.15, 19.37 and 21.45.

I'm... OK ernough. So yours is that rumbling monster out there?

My regular DC7 might give you a run for your money with 8800 HP, 74 optinal turbos and 200L of power.

It was a distraction, but it got away from the uncomfortable are you alright question, and she could push the old plane to nearly 10,000 but engine life was far longer running lower power. Even then most cargo barely tasked the massive old fashioned radial engines.

Ending on a lighter note, he had import card, mostly mechanics and others seemed to have those so he might give a abit of banter back. Hopefully she was more comfortable talking about aircraft than pretending to be OK.

ou D JP8. Latest colone?


Adding a slight joke to try and make her seem less like the ice queen of Deadalus, grey eyes, and her accent made that act a tad too easy. It was meant to be a customer service job, and much as she felt, it was not this man's fault what happened to her.

---

Joel regarded the young woman carefully and immediately knew to whom the white Land Rover belonged. He’d been around cars long enough that it was easy to tell which body belonged with which vehicle even when the two weren’t together. Cars said more about the person than most were willing to admit. She seemed a fairly clean-cut type upon first impression, but uneasy for some reason and only doing a fair job at covering it up. He didn't want to pry and just briefly glanced at her ID. What a mouthful. In his mind he started working on the correct pronunciation. It was very regal looking at least. Wings meant she was a flyer, which would explain how she paid for such a sheek ride, but the fact that she was here on the night shift shuffling boxes and booking schedule meant something else. He wasn’t an expert on aviation regs, but figured it had to be health related like the other guy he’d dealt with before.

Adrenaline was wearing off as he leaned back slightly on the counter and she checked his ID. He gave a cordial nod to those stepping out who seemed to regard him strangely. It was the first time anyone had run the complete check in quite some time. She could see all of his past shipments, mostly from Japan and their declared value, some of substantial amounts that probably didn’t befit his appearance. He was slightly surprised by her aviation quip and cocked up one eyebrow. He was used to the flyers and their horsepower jokes. “Yeah? We can line them up for the quarter-mile sometime and see what happens.” He replied with a confident and growing smirk. He enjoyed talking trash immensely, particular with women. “More like 118, leaded, from this morning.” He said referring to the fuel smell she’d detected. It must’ve been more obvious than he’d thought.

“That reminds though,” He continued, “Think you could open the gate so I could fill up? We have a fuel bowser around back.”

---

Old Sol Airport . Wednesday Evening

Marinalia knew it was obvious why she ended working out of this office, fliers never came here by choice mostly assigned while unfit to fly for various reasons, it was quiet, the work lighter and alot less busy than the main terminal at the International airport and 99% of clients where either business, private jets, importers and such. Thr man fell into that bracket. Everyone knew the drill, had ID. No real angry customers.

His account came up as exports and some not small amounts of cash listed, car parts, engines, custom components and race parts all from high end Japanese companies. Certainly not thr man's look. Giving a somewhat Suprised look at the imports, well.

Then came the jokes, he gave back as good as she gave. Ground racers and there engines had nothing on aero engines.

well, maybe when my wings not clipped. Il have to show you why wings beat wheels.

Trying to stay customer focused, but she loved her job, flying. The freedom of being able to go almost anywhere. It was not his fault she had to wait on blood tests and her voice tone gave away her frustration at being grounded and thr jazz night incidents.

l sorry.... I just miss my job. And stuff. Should not take it out on you. Gates. Yeah there's a note on your account. Gimme a minute.

You need this, swipe the pad. Flight line pass. Always give way to the left to traffic and to aircraft. Speed limits 30mph... I should know... I got fined for breaking it!


Handing him over a pass, they had been arranged by someone before her for the race team test, it was still not safe on flight line and mostly was a staff only area. Adding the speed limit with a fake Stern tone, she tried to least be freindly to the man. Plus he was likely to try and race a DC7 and DC4 that was due to take off in 15 minutes.

---

Joel felt his suspicions realized as she shot back and then quickly backed off her retort. He liked that he could get a little rise out of her so quick. She was uneasy and it had to do with the fact she wasn’t flying. He could appreciate someone that was passionate about their work and it made him wonder a little how serious her condition might be but also didn’t want to be nosey. She didn’t seem to have any obvious symptoms of anything. However, being in a situation where he needed to kill some time, wandering the cold warehouse pretending he was there for something important didn’t sound like much of a good time while he knew she was sitting up here shuffling papers. He figured he would just be playful and he liked her accent. There was no loss if she shot him down. He was stuck here for a while either way.

“Why don’t you take a break and get some fresh air?” He said accepting the gate pass. “I’m a little curious how you got your ‘wings clipped’.” He turned back towards the door figuring she understood his implication. “Don’t worry, I always drive the speed limit.” He smirked. If she didn’t meet him at the gate, it was no loss. He was here for a while anyway. It would be nice to have someone to talk to other than the rampies for a change.

---

Old Sol Airport . Wednesday Evening

He had a point. She was shuffling papers, and despite a good part of her after the previous night screaming, a small part peaked in intrest. Damn it, what was up with her recently. She did have a taser and CS spray hidden on her person, and the airport was secured to hell and back these days. She still was torn, part of her realising the last risk was massive, this time it was more calculated, he had security checks, she had met most of night staff and they'd likely not make it off the premises of someone hurt her.

The flight schedule, minesweeper and flight roster had not changed in past 2 hours... If needed 3 million volts would have him drooling into the tarmac for about 15-20 minutes.

Grabbing a jacket, and a logo marked high visibility coat to keep warm on the exposed runway, it was a colder night and the flat tarmac offered little shelter, neat uniform contrasting with the bright yellow jacket streaked with some oil resadue from a leaking engine, prominent logo and flight crew emblazed on back.

Then throwing him over a high visibility vest marked "Civilian" in big letters. , rules where rules even for civilians.
OK, and you'll need that. Rules are rules.

Call me Marlin, Mali. either Don,t mind.

Walking out into the cool night air. Things where quiet at the runway, the sound of the DC3 warming its engines up broke the quiet and calm at the old cargo airport.

Why she was here. Might as well be honest, if he ran away his fault for asking, cool grey eyes glinting slightly in the powerful flood lighting, accent struggling to hide somewhat the turmoil between her two minds.

why... Its... Not nice.

Some jerk at the r jazz night tried to drug me, some cuben expat, rich kid. Derailed daddy's presidential bid... Perfect poss pose...?

Trying to being back some control to voice, she had not had chance to open up to anyone but her dad and sister, and spent the past day turning it over again and again. Leaning against the land rover she sighed somewhat. Apart from blood tests they insisted she take time off flight status, it made sense but only pissed her off more with a rather peaved English accent.

flight rules. Blood tests. Until I'm cleared safe, I'm not allowed to fly.

With slightly more resolve, it was somthing to be able to least say it. A weight lifted even of just a fraction..

I have 3 million volts if you a jerk, so hands on the gears not my knee.


OK, she thought that came across abit crazy, bit it set a boundary, and a line, his car was a frankenstein creation even to a non petrol head, bucket seats. No single pound wasted or unnecessary. Blimey, it made her DC7 look like a limo.

ready? Or I scared you off?

I'd apologise, I'd be lieing.

---

As Joel stepped out the door the temperature difference was noticeable even after just a few minutes inside. The night was peaceful enough though and there was little ambient noise like the constant hum of the city. Somewhere a radial engine turned over in the distance and it made him take pause and glance up. He exhaled lightly to see his breath vapor form and then dissipate in the crisp air as he looked up able to actually see stars without the wash of light pollution. For a fleeting second he thought of places that he’d rather be, but the thought, like his breath, was gone in less than a second. “Alright Miss Mali, your chariot awaits.” He said opening the passenger door for her not because he was chivalrous, however mostly because the handle was flush with the door making it hard to see at night and he wanted to observe the look on her face. She was still apprehensive and he thought briefly that maybe he should’ve just left it alone and went on about his business. His mouth had got him into trouble many times before.

Admittedly like her, being cooped up in that shop for days on end wasn’t any good for him either and this casual rendezvous after running from the police was a nice change. He couldn’t remember where he’d heard it, the expression, No man is an island came to mind. He merely listened to her talk as he went through the same start up procedure. In this setting he was in his element, but he stopped short of pushing the ignition to let her finish; smirking a little at her threats, more interested in her story of the jazz night. “Someone tried to drug you?” He questioned with some astonishment. He hadn’t been able to see anything that actually happened on the inside. He’d read the news of course and that particular item had not been mentioned in the local rags. He reached up and turned off the scanner then pushed the ignition waking the engine from its momentary rest. The sound reverberated in the cold as he reversed and headed for the gate.

The gate opened automatically and he eased out to the flight line. It was a view he rather enjoyed: The scattered markers of the taxiways in blue and green, the rotating beacon atop the old control tower in the distance and the soft glow of Sol City back to the east. Various aircraft were nosed up to their cargo stands. A Daedalus MD-11 was being loaded while the DC-3 they heard earlier was taxiing away, most likely bound for a dirt strip up north. In the distance he could make out a newer Gulfstream parked and two Navy P-8’s. “I was at the Jazz night, so to speak.” He said. His tone more even than before and his eyes scanned around for any unforeseen obstruction. “But I wasn’t inside… I had a truck to work on and needed a part from the warehouse up by the record shop, all I saw was the chopper parked out front.” He stopped and gave-way to a lift truck returning a wave from the driver. “Read the rest on the news, I’ve heard of the company, didn’t know those delinquents had a pet name for themselves, though.”

Joel pulled up to some parking outside the warehouse. She’d at least saved him a walk in the cold. The warehouse featured some heat, but it fought against the constant opening and closing of bay doors. Inside he strolled along the high aisles examining the multitude of items boxed and wrapped and crated in various configurations being completely content with its perfection in organization. “I thought I read that Cuban was on some kind of probation, had ankle tether and everything. You gonna press charges?” Joel was an ardent devourer of news and often knew more than he let on and things were starting to come together in his head as they walked.

---

Old Sol Airport . Wednesday Evening

She saw the car, and it was perfectly smooth, flush handles, lights, thr lot. If it was welded doors too, nope that would be rather undignified to say the least. The airport was never quiet even on night shift the sound of engines, machines or people never stopped.

Climbing in the racing seats and harness where not made for comfort, no carpets, even the dash was bare holes in a metal framework. Marinalia much preferred air con and having a cup holder. He seemed to be hesitant, well she had kinda unloaded on him, and dispute being a stranger it seemed almost easier than having to tell her family at times. Yeah it was true and it never made any tabloid as all the chaos, the only ones who knew where Milo, Ren, Victoria, her family and the scumbags.

It took a few goes to secure the racing harness, similar of a aircraft but different ernough to have her take several attempts at getting the harness order right.

thanks, though my chariot has air con and a cup holder.

With a slightly voice tone shift, he was Suprised, but those jerk seemed to think they ran the city.

honestly, yes. Some foul mixture in a gold goblet. His idiot freind, I'd rather become a nun than even hold his hand.

They where headed into the airport proper now, the cargo office was inside the first ring of fencing but the active runways where fenced and gated for security. In recent years armed guards had started to become more regular as Sol city was worried about the remote airports security half an hour or more from main police HQ. Trucks, aircraft. He was taking care to obey rules. Well when a employee with you it was hard not to have a choice.

you where outside. Better off. First time I get a night out with my sister in months and well. Cursed. Yeah. Perfect pose or some nauseating rubbish. .

The chopper, yeah, some civilian mod version of a medium lift, Marilania could tell it was not regular from afar and it's pilot was definitely skilled though had little fair for his rotar position. He could of killed alot of people.

I could tell you the model if it was lighter. They broke multiple flight rules. How they even keep there damned liscense to run that thing.

Entering the warehouse, it was brightly lit and almost every corner was rigged with cameras, the value of goods coming in from Asia meant security here was higher and felt a bit safer, knowing the spots she stood exactly in line of one of the main camera arrays. He was checking his slot, alot of people used the place for storage and everything was insured here. There must of been millions of dollers in cargo in this single warehouse. Leaning against a rack of large pallets stacked up.

I contacted police. They waiting on my blood test to see of I was... Even then. Daddy will probbly try and bail the fat ball out.

The regular cops hate it, they love to throw them in cells.

Adfing thr last big with disgust. Had he not had his private army someone would of beaten him up, helicopters and a bunch of goons make a big difference. She had rambled on, and on. Turn around time..

so whilst I have vented half my life at you... Hwho is this Joel and what does he do in this fine city bar import alot of money in Japanese car parts.

Joel listened as they strolled further through the warehouse to the zone he and Tommy paid for storage. It wasn’t a terribly big plot, about two car lengths, and only occupied by a pair of large, faded-teal containers marked from Yokohama with Japanese and English shipping instructions pressed into the outside. The container itself sported the old Nissan, Sun and Bar logo and in a spray stenciled font below was Apex Designs – SOL City, US. They always capitalized “Sol” for whatever reason and Joel found it amusing. He stooped down to read the Bill of Laden than hung off the box in a plastic sleeve. Most of the text was in Japanese, which he could read about half. The rest was Daedalus import and US Customs documents with weights measurements and various signoffs from all involved in shipping. He’d already inspected the boxes and their contents once before, but with time to kill and present company he decided he’d do another quick check over. One way he screened women’s interest in him by how much of his hobbies they could tolerate.

“Oh, just creeping on girls at the airport mostly.” He replied taking the outside of the container apart from the buckles. He spoke with stone sincerity before glancing back with a slight smirk. He’d loosed the interior bracing when the two engines had first arrived several weeks ago. He and Tommy had negotiated for four of the large Nissan Motorsport V-8’s. One came before last year’s race, the one they’d actually used in the race, another shortly after then two more this year. He took out his phone and peeled back the plastic wrap examining the block with the phone’s light. “No. I got a little shop on the Southside,” He said without looking up. “I build these cars… That thing out there is one mine, one of my customer’s” He stretched around awkwardly to get a better view, still talking. “Domesitcs aren’t my specialty though, I prefer these, even some European stuff.”

Somewhere in the background a radio played at one of the small parcel desks. Joel was never able to tune out ambient music, always hearing every song. It sounded like that retched 10.3 Razzle-Jazzle. He remembered reading that Swan Songs owner’s record collection had mysteriously not been damaged by the fire sprinklers. What a damn shame he thought.

Swan Songs . Monday Evening

---

Marinalia watched as Joel seemed to have a sense of humour as bad as his car was luxurious, two large shipping crates marked with various tags. In the few shifts she had been working at it tonight, and previously in her training phase. Inside was a pair of large engines with a large array of parts that she probbly could name badly. It certainly was alot of money sat in a battered, spray painted shipping crate sat in a airport warehouse.

Joel was sarcastic, kinda a car nut and discribed his job. Well least he was not a banker! Getting out way after seeing the array of parts, she leant against a racking nearby, bright high vis jacket gleaming in flood lights. Waving to a passing K9 patrol, a rifle slung over shoulder from SPD. Even basic cargo airports where under tight security these days.

you know, that's not the best way to meet women

Laughing slightly, though even the joke set her nerves slightly, a concealed taser, pretending to be a lipstick with a genuine lipstick end. Touching up her basic make up was a good cover with a small mirror.

Oh, your Dr Frankenstien then. Becareful the monsters you create.

Now I know a good mechanic in the city, always handy Dr Frankenjoel. Ice rafts might not be ideal for yiour creations.

Pilot of course., been flying since I was 18, bit of a nomad, helicopters too, Alaska was fun. I loved the mountains.

She had grown up on the classics, her grandfather's home had a small but well stocked libiary and Marilania had spent a good few hours curled into a couch hiding from the family arguments.

---

Victoria had walked it and was not the fastest person in Sol thanks to a walking stick and weakened frame. Some days she almost do without it, others barely get off the sofa to get a drink. Gah, it had never been easy since the illness, even with support.

Life had a way of always making things intresting for the ghostly young woman.

Then she saw a place Mali had mentioned in passing, a pub the old Starboard, lights where off and doors closed tonight. From further back she was sure she saw some of me she recognised. Was it Milo?

He never had messaged her after, did he like her or not?
Most people either saw her as some kind of trophy claim, or seemed too scared she might break. He seemed decent though. Seemed, people could be hard to judge.

Looking over, she was not too far away. Just another human in the city. Though her size, skin almost glinted dully in the led streetlights. Just another ghost in thr city. Litially.

---

@Pilatus@RoccanIronclad

Ren rubbed sleep out of his eyes while sitting up straight in bed. How late had it been last night? The state of his room showed the evidence of an all-nighter; Stacks of books were wobbling on his night stand, a notebook with scribbles and drawings of the human anatomy lay open on the floor. His laptop was shuffled halfway under his bed and it's wire was a tangled mess next to it. Thankfully there were no classes today. Time to get some breakfast. There was nothing like a house brew of coffee from the Coffee Pot. He pulled out his phone, and typed a message that read:

"Leaving at the usual time." to his chauffeur.
He inhaled slowly through his nose, and released a loud sigh. Putting his feet down on the floor he slowly walked into his closet to get dressed before leaving the apartment. Down at the first floor the porter was standing in the doorframe, a distressed look on his face.

"Oh, mister White. There seems to be a man sleeping on the sidewalk outside. I'm so sorry I haven't gotten rid of him yet, I only just saw him. Let me call the police right away, sir."

Ren looked out through the glass door and saw a black haired, kind of tall, scruffy looking guy on the sidewalk. His clothes were nothing to special, but he didn't have that homeless look either. He seemed to be out cold though. There was something familiar about him that Ren could not quit put his finger on. The guy from Swan Songs - who made that man on stage even more pissed off. There it was. They hadn't spoken to each other, but Ren remembered the sleeping man's slap-back comment with amusement. He seemed like an interesting fellow.

"It's alright, Jones. I know him." The porter's mouth opened slightly, phone in one hand ready to call the police.

"Very well, sir." The porter tried his best to not let his disbelief shine through, but his eyes gave him away.

Ren went outside. His chauffeur, William, was waiting patiently as ever by the car and waved as he noticed him. Instead of walking directly to the car, he walked towards the sleeping man. Looking the guy over, Ren got the association of an opossum, playing dead. He lifted his foot and poked him not-so-gently in the side. "Oi, deadbeat. Wakey-wakey. You look like you've seen better days. Care to join me for breakfast?" Ren didn't know why he bothered with this guy. He blamed it on the city. Ever since he'd moved here to Sol, he'd been getting to know a lot of new people in a short period of time. At least it seemed like a better idea to get him to move by free will than sending the cops on the poor guy.

---

@Rabidporcupine

---

Milo had eventually found a fedex drop off location, they never were in good places, but the boxes were heavy and annoying to carry so he was glad to have them off of his back, but now he was deep in the city and had very little idea where he was even at.

"I always seem to get turned around." He spoke aloud to the empty street he was on, there were a few cars out and some people up the road, though he wasn't able to make out who they were, as if he actually knew them anyway. Milo saw a sign for the Old Starboard, a pub he had passed last week and had made mental note to try and hit up at some point, but as he moved closer he noticed that the bar was closed, as well as the silvery young woman from the other day, miss Victoria Romus.

"Well, fancy meeting you out here miss Romus." He gave her a bit of a grin but stayed on his bike and looked up at the bar. "Shame the bar is closed I'd offer you drink otherwise." The grin widened a bit at the situation, "May I ask what you are out and about for?"

@PrinceAlexus

Wednesday

Max stood with his back against the door frame, his mother pacing around the empty room. She was the epitome of elegance, of class, brilliance, sincerity, everything. Max held no one else with higher regard. Margott Summerson, pronounced Mar-got as opposed to Mar-go, born Margott Hazelbury had the grace of a governess, even in her older age. Time had treated her kindly, Max had always considered it a kindness repaid, as Mother had graced Time with her presence. She placed a hand on the windowsill and looked about her.

"I'll clean the room, and I'll call the movers to meet you at the warehouse, be sure to get everything on the list." Her voice was clear, and rang with undeniable authority, but the order was spoken as softly as a timidly asked question. Max scanned the list on more time and then asked finally.

"Why didn't we just keep the furniture here?" He spoke half jokingly and half seriously, her eyes flicked to face him, one hand on the windowsill. She studied him for the briefest of moments before her nervous stare softened into a tired gaze.

"You're a spitting image of your father, Max." She said in a melancholy, nostalgic tone. "All you'd need to do is not be a sarcastic so and so." Max chucked and Mother snorted, much to her son's delight and her embarrassment. "Go! I don't want your cousin sleeping on the floor tomorrow!"

With that Max strode out, shaking his head and laughing, "Don't stress too much, Mother." She watched him go before turning her attention back to the room, setting a crooked painting straight again.



Max watched as they loaded in the last of the furniture, a chest of drawers that his mother insisted he bring. He couldn't fathom what his cousin would put in it but he put that thought out of his mind. "Alright, boys. We best get this stuff home before Sam falls asleep." He referred the doorman, gate keeper and gardener, Sam Wellington had worked at the estate since Max's father was a child. Perhaps he stuck around out of loyalty, or maybe it was because no one would hire a man at such an advanced age. It wasn't like the Summersons forced him to stay, he just had no where else to go.

Climbing into his car, he pulled ahead of the moving van, and duo of automobiles drifted out of the Warehouse District and into a more residential area. His head scanned about him, the apartments were tasteful but not for him, he preferred horizontal space as opposed to vertical space. Which was ironic, because he loved heights. The drive ahead was uneventful, and Sam was thankfully awake to open the front gates for the arriving convoy.

Furniture moved upstairs, and arranged to his mother's satisfaction, Max tipped the movers and saw them out. And once sure his mother had settled down for the day, made his way to the airfield.

After a hurried pack up and shut down of equipment followed by the locking of studio doors Hannah and her mentor parted ways with a farewell. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and looked up at the stars, a small smile spreading across her face. Less than a week into her new location the novelty of the new city was yet to wear off. In saying that Hannah hadn't yet actually spent much time doing stuff in the city, busy between settling in to her apartment and her job. Tonight, she decided, she'd finally explore her new surrounding. She slipped her earbuds into her ears, tapped 'play' on her phone and continued forward.

Lit streets, busy people. Although some seemed hated this sort of setting Hannah loved it, she found a certain beauty in the concrete jungle others seemed to miss so easily. She took her time to consider spots and admire scenery. It was moments like this she wouldn't miss home. She passed the Golden Mike, making a note to drop by some day. Eventually she reached another lit building. The Arcade. She gave a shrug, why not? and wandered in the face the abundance of machines and games. Some wandered from game to game while some kept put at one, trying to beat the highest score. Hannah stayed at the corner unsure where to start as she tugged the earphones from her ears. There wasn't an arcade in her old town. While other ran aoud the arcade Hannah stood only metres from the door, watching the arcade in front of her.

Outside Old Starboard . Wensday Evening

---

Victoria was Suprised by the random encounter, seemed almost planned by a writer.... Lol. Milo was there and seemed to be in a better mood than the previous night. She had been planning to go out and get some food, a glass of wine and a bar meal seemed a ideal way to finish a evening after working all afternoon and not wanting to cook.

Offer a drink, well that would of been fun if the bar was open, shame it was closed looking closer seeing a sign tacked to door. Miss Romus,

Victoria, or Vika is fine.

Miss Romus is a tad formal.

With a smile and a rather accurate Russian Accent on Vika, might as well break the ice, for a woman who looked like she embodied ice it was a tiny irony. The accent was good, not perfect but her spoken Russian was fluent.

felt stuck in the house past day or two... Plus cooking not a strong point... Hungry...

Want to join me for Swarma, there's a nice place on light lane. I found it on Google, umm watched Avengers... Wanted Swarma for no real reason... Only a few minutes walk

Checking her phone, it buzzed with a email saying she got paid, the screen quickly passing by a screen with a picture of her, Marilania and her father, a taller man with matching grey eyes and a face worn from years out at sea, Navy style coat and captains shoulder boards . It was a year or two old but she never had found a replacement.

It buzzed again, the arcade had a 2 for one on food snacks at the arcade, it was alright for fast food but the small places on light lane with there tiny non chain shops, often ernough room for 10 people max but the food was fresh and some of the best in the city.

Offering a rather small hand with a glittering ice blue diamond on a not engaged finger. could not hurt to make it so obvious, if he missed that one there was no helping him!

In the distance she could see the arcade was getting rather busy with patrons, likely drawn by the cheaper food. It was not bad, but not Swarma! A young woman seemed to be heading in, well it was not boys only, plus cheap junk food was universal.

so. How you been doing since the Infamous jazz night with the masters of dissator...

---

@RoccanIronclad@SouffleGirl123