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Solia Kleopas

The mechanic

0 · 239 views · located in Fallorn

a character in “Aboard The Jackal”, as played by WindOnFire

Description

Image
Role: The mechanic

Name: Solia Kleopas

Nickname: Occasionally, Sol.

Gender: Female

Age: 24

Height: 5’7”

Weight: 120 lbs

Nationality: Moljin



Appearance:
Standing at 5’7”, Solia’s build is naturally slight, though she put on a fair amount of muscle during her stint in the military. Now, she could be more accurately described as sturdy. Her lifestyle keeps her from accumulating any extra body fat, as calories are burned at a lightning-fast pace whilst hurrying about the ship and sweating in the engine room, where most of her time is spent. The large amount of time she spends in the artificial light of the engine rooms has, thankfully, kept her from too much sun, but she’s still tanned and occasionally burnt. Slightly olive toned, she’s acquired a permanent tan that pairs well with her dark hair.

Her hair has finally begun to grow out of the short pixie cut she wore in the military, and thankfully passed the stage where it pointed every which way, making her look like a disheveled duck. The naturally curly dark brown locks now fall to her neck in waves, which she never bothers to style. A quick brushing and the occasional shower is the only care her hair ever gets, and so it is often messy. When working in the engine room she’ll tie a bandanna around her head, both to keep the curls from falling in her face and the sweat from her eyes.

Because of the amount of time Solia spends in the engine room, she’s rarely completely clean, and can often be seen with grease smudged on her face and dirt smeared on her arms. An unavoidable part of her life, it rarely bothers Solia, less she is teased by another for it. The dirt also finds its way to her clothes, which consist of t-shirts, sleeveless tops, and loose pants, as well as the occasional piece ‘borrowed’ from a crewmate when she’s in a hurry. You’ll never find anything but steel-toed boots upon her feet- as Solia is quick to point out, a dropped tool may be a big deal if you’re wearing sandals, but little can get through thought leather and metal. Her physical appearance isn’t a big deal for Solia, so she puts no thought into what she wears, favoring practicality and comfort.

Quick and always moving, Solia is constantly fiddling with something, be it a tool or mechanical part, or just pencil twirled between her fingers. She’s often got a tool belt slung about her waist or tossed over her shoulder. Whenever she leaves The Jackal she wears a handgun at her hip.



Abilities: Solia’s most remarkable skill is her ability with engines, vehicles, and things with moving parts. She learned most of what she knows from her father, a fairly skilled mechanic, and the rest while she was enlisted in the military. In the service, she worked as a mechanic, repairing mostly tanks, but the occasional landship. The only vehicles that can stump her are air vehicles and the occasional custom piece. And while she is skilled, she's not a miracle worker- if something's completely busted, its not like she can make it work with some toothpicks and duct tape.

Of course, being from the military, she also knows how to fire a gun. Best with handguns, she can’t wield anything too large for the recoil. She is now also proficient with the cannon atop The Jackal. She’s also got an uncanny knack for throwing wrenches at moving targets, and has bruised more than one of her crewmates with an unexpected projectile.



History: Born to a large family in Moljin, Solia knew love from the moment she opened her eyes. Though the task of raising five children had to be a difficult one, particularly for middle-class laborers such as her parent, the pair doted on every child they were blessed with. After long work days, when the children were home from school, the small home would glow with joy and laughter. Though they didn’t have much, they had enough.

With four older brothers, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that Solia grew up fast, and she grew tough. She was more likely to be found wrestling with her brothers than playing with dolls, climbing trees than drawing, playing catch than playing dress-up. She’d broken her arm twice by the time she was ten- though that’s nothing on her brother Elisio, who broke both arms, twice, and his little finger, by the time he was seven. And though her brothers might not flinch at beating on their little sister, they were a tight-knit group, and if any one of them were threatened, the others would jump into action. It’s just how they were raised.

When she was thirteen, Solia, like all of her brothers before her, began to help her father in his garage. A mechanic, he repaired cars, bikes, motorcycles, the occasional hovercycle
if it had an engine, Mr. Kleopas could repair it. And he taught his sons and daughter to, as well. That summer was the happiest of her life. Running around in her brother’s hand-me-downs (usually at least a size too large) with her hair all over the place and her skin tanned from being outdoors, helping in the shop in the evenings, she was content. No boring, useless classes, no problems at home, surrounded by family- it was all she could ask for, and more. Their money was finally starting to stretch a bit farther, and that year she got her first pair of actual girl pants for her birthday! What more could she want?

The next summer, though, was different. Solia and her closest brother, Raph, were helping her father out in the shop, same as always, and the next two brothers were working in local businesses for the summer, but Giorge, the eldest and now 18, had joined the military. He was on border patrol, which, at that point, was not a terribly dangerous post, but still


The summer after that there were two Kelopas’ in the military. And another that fall. Slowly, the house was shrinking, collapsing in on itself as the people who used to hold it up trickled out, one by one. The empty space was taken up by fear as the political tension rose and the threat of war loomed higher. The next summer, Raph turned 18, and joined in his turn. Not to be outdone by any of her brothers, and ignoring her parent’s pleas and tears, Solia too took her turn and enlisted when she graduated from school.

Solia did fairly well for herself in basic training. Sure, she wasn’t the strongest in her class, nor the fastest, but she was unflinching as she tackled task after task, and trained as hard as any other. After all, she would give anything she tried her best shot. No one could accuse Solia Kleopas of being a quitter! She proved her worth as a mechanic, and that was her post once she left training. Soon after, though, war broke out as it had been threatening to do for years. The Western Alliance against The Coalition of Brinn. And Solia, and all of her brothers, were in the middle of it.

Dear Elisio, who had broken all those bones so many years ago, was the first to fall, gunned down in the early fighting. One by one their brother's followed, each one killed in action. Finally, only little Solia was left, her parents having been killed in an air raid. Her story is far from unique, as many were left without family after the war, on both sides of the fighting. Like many so devastated, Solia had difficulty coping, and her thoughts turned to revenge and joining the rebellion in Iskadale once the war ended.

Her mind made up, she promptly left the service and made preparations to head for Iskadale. The trip was a hard one- areas that were once farmland were now empty wastes haunted by people no one would wish to encounter. Large cities, once sparkling, turned shady and grim, filth lurking in the corners, waiting to pounce. And so, when Solia came across a stranded landship, the engine spewing black smoke at the sky, Solia did not hesitate, but struck a deal- if she could repair the ship, they would give her a ride as far east as they were going.

Of course, once aboard the ship, the engine working once more, it was not like her to loaf around. And so she helped out, puttering around in the engine room and fixing loose gears and bolts, exploring the gun deck and learning to navigate. When The Jackal turned north, she stayed. Even when they finally plotted a western course she stayed, though she hasn’t admitted to anyone why, or even that she doesn’t plan to leave anytime soon. When pressed, she either says, “I’m still going! I just didn’t want to enter from that border!” or, “If I leave, you guys are just gonna get stranded again. And if something happened to you, it’d all be on me. So I’ll leave when one of you learns how to fix this hunk of junk!”

In reality, Solia is becoming convinced that seeking revenge as she was was stupid. She knows that if she were to join the rebellion, she’d probably be killed without accomplishing much, and that thought is causing her trouble. Though she outwardly acts like she wants to actively oppose Iskadale, she doesn’t get passionate about it anymore, and the rest of the crew has noticed. She’s lost her cause, so to speak, and this has led to self-doubt and uncertainty. She’s not completely sure who she is anymore, and it scares her.

Solia’s grown close to her crewmates and her captain, and absolutely adores The Jackal, though she’s fond of cursing it, calling it names, and punching it when it’s not preforming as it should. If someone else is abusing the ship, however, she has no problems expressing her opinions toward them and their ancestors, and quite frequently refers to the ship as ‘hers.’ On the ship, Solia spends much of her time in the engine room or on the bridge. She’s the one that keeps everything, from the great cogs of the engine to the stove in the galley, working. She also operates the top cannon when The Jackal is under attack.

(Will add relationships with other crewmembers later)



Loyalty: She sides with the Western Alliance, not only because she is a native of Moljin, but also because her brothers were killed fighting against the Coalition of Brinn. She has plans to join the rebels in Iskadale
eventually.



Personality: Normally even-tempered, there are few things that can make Solia truly angry- someone abusing The Jackal, or some perceived injustice. She harbors a fervent desire to help others, and will not hesitate to verbally defend someone else. Rarely will she get into physical confrontations, as she isn’t a naturally violent person, but she will fight if pushed, and defend herself if threatened. If someone were to seriously attack her, though, her gut reaction would be to run.

Solia can be rather rough-and-tumble, and if insulted, her reaction is to punch the offender- not seriously, but she doesn’t hold back either. She’s a little rough around the edges, and acts more like one of the boys than a lady. This is her biggest source of contention with herself- she wishes she could be dainty or ladylike, but it’s just not in her skill set. She’s loud, and messy, and she knows it. Pointing out her unladylike behavior is the fastest way to tick her off and earn yourself a black eye, or at least a verbal lashing. After that, she mopes about, and she easily gets jealous when presented with a more ‘womanly’ person.

Though she never gave up on anything she tried for most of her life, recently, that’s been changing. Maybe she’s just getting a little wiser, but her recent abandonment of her goals has left her unsure of who she is. She’s started doubting herself, and wishes she were more determined to see her goals through. Solia thinks that it’s a personal failure to leave the path she had set out upon, and can’t reconcile that that may not be such a bad thing. She won’t confide in anyone about this, though, and takes great pains to hide it from others.

When under stress, Solia can’t sit still. She gets agitated, and if there’s something she can do to help alleviate the stress, she’ll do it. She hates being idle, and can’t stand laziness in others. She gets frustrated easily when attempting to reason with others or convince them of something, and people skills are not her strong suit.



Family: She had four older brothers, all of whom are deceased. Her parents and grandparents are deceased, as well. She has some surviving aunts, uncles, and cousins, though she is close to none of them.

So begins...

Solia Kleopas's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Solia Kleopas
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17 months after The Western Alliance and The Coalition of Brinn declared a truce, on 20-9-2045. Aboard the landship The Jackal, in Moljin, near the Ishkavalian border. A half-hour by landship from Jinntok, Moljin.

The inside of The Jackal was ablaze with flashing red lights and blaring sirens, warnings that were completely unnecessary considering the explosions that were rocking the entire ship and echoing off her metal sides. “Dammit, they’re bombing us!” someone shouted, the yell audible through most of the ship’s interior. One of the cabinets in the galley, the lock rusted and old, burst open, and the cacophony of pots and pans flying across the room only added to the mayhem as the crew hurried towards the bridge.

In the sleeping quarters, most of the bunks built into the sides of the ship were empty, blankets askew or fallen to the ground. On the ground, trunks bounced up and down with the jarring ride, and some of the lockers had opened, spewing clothes and papers everywhere. The occupant of one bunk- the only one still in the crew’s quarters- blearily opened her eyes, awoken by either the siren two feet above her head, the shouting, or the shoe that arced through the air and hit her in the head, sent flying when The Jackal endured a particularly hard jolt.

“What the-“ sitting up abruptly, her forehead hit the ceiling, and she proved she was a crewman by the curses that colored the air. “The hell is going on?” she added, though of course no one was near enough to hear her, let alone respond. Half jumping, half falling from her bed, she stumbled upon landing, grateful she had fallen asleep in her pants last night. She grabbed a shirt as she struggled towards the door, though, as she buttoned it, she soon realized that it wasn’t hers, as it was at least two sizes too big. Still, it was better to be wearing someone else’s shirt than to reach the bridge in only her bra. Stuffing her feet into boots as she exited, she raced through the engine room and took a short cut, swinging herself up a ladder and coming into the bridge through a hatch in the floor. Of course, since it was that kind of day, someone stepped on the hatch just as she was opening it, forcing her back down and adding another bruise to her collection of the day.

Shoving the hatch open, she finally emerged into the center of the action. “Captain, are you damaging my ship?” she yelled, glaring at the woman up on the command deck. She propped her hands on her hips, completely oblivious to the sight that she made. Above, Coalition planes glinted in the early morning light. “I just finished repairing the engine last night! Four hours ago! And now you’re going to bang her up again!” The flashing lights were present here, too, coming both from warning lights mounted on the walls and ceiling, and from the myriad of instruments on the control panel in the ship’s nose, surrounding the pilot’s seat. Fortunately, though, there were no alarms in the actual bridge, so that the crew could hear each other in the middle of an attack such as this. Just in case, though, each major battle station- the command deck, the pilot’s seat, and the gun deck- were equipped with headsets, and speakers were in every room in the ship so that the captain could address any room at any time. Spare headsets sat on hooks about the bridge, allowing the rest of the crew to grab one if needed.

Solia rolled up her cuffs and swiftly laced her boots, necessary actions if she were to man the gun deck. A loose lace could catch on a switch, and she needed full mobility. As she did so, she glanced up through the light-sensitive viewports, darkened against the desert sun. She swore yet again, and informed the captain, “Those are Coalition planes- F-52s. Used only in the Iskavalian air force. What the hell are they- wait, did you cross the border?”

Flinching instinctively when one of the planes opened its bomb hatch, its load falling quickly to land a few dozen meters from The Jackal, Solia lost her balance as the explosion rocked the ship, engulfing them in a cloud of sand and smoke. “Thank God that their targeting systems are crap,” she shouted over the commotion, “But they’ll hit us soon enough! And if they call in reinforcements we’re done for! Please tell me that we’ve got backup coming from the Jinntok base!” The city of Jinntok, dangerously close to the border, was their destination, with a load of food, water, and supplies, desperately needed. The military base just outside of Jinntok had arms and ammunition coming, too, to fortify them against the ever-present threat of invasion. The force against them wasn’t quite that large- it looked like a scouting or patrol troop, not meant to cause real damage. They’d probably caught sight of The Jackal’s dust trail and figured she’d be an easy target.

Solia rose to her feet, heading towards the base of the command deck. “You want me up top?” she asked Adria, ready to head up to the gun deck if ordered.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Test Subject Omega-6 "Apostle" Character Portrait: Solia Kleopas Character Portrait: Adria Del Korinth Character Portrait: Darya Character Portrait: Finn Lowell
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The sky thundered with the pounding of munition shells. All around her, Iskavalian soldiers rushed forward through the broken buildings. Moljin’s front had all but collapse as the Coalition’s iron tide rolled over. Large towers frowned down upon the lone tank commander as she stared defiantly back. The were taunting her, cursing her for ordering the brilliant bombs to befall them. It was the fifth day of the Uena campaign, and Adria grew tired of waiting for victory.

“Division Commander!” Adria looked down as a stormtrooper snapped to attention. How peculiar it was for such formalities to be followed in such 
 uncivilized circumstances. “Mantis Brigade reports Moljin forces routed on the right flank!”

Finally Adria thought as she reached down to her headset. Division Commander Dugard’s attrition ‘strategy’ had proven ineffective thus far. What progress he made in four days, Adria had done more in one. “Wolf Brigade. Final contingency has been satisfied,” she dismissed the trooper as he rushed by to his squad, “there will be no quarter for any Moljin soldier or civilian. The Supreme Commander demands we purify the filth; let us liberate them from Moljin’s corruption.”

As a chorus of acknowledgements crackled in her headset’s receiver, her command vehicle began to move. Its gears groaning in protest due to the weight.

Her hardened gaze stared into the distance as her forces swarmed across the streets. The sweet sound of gunfire filled the air in gusto as the screams of the innocent begged for a mercy she conditioned her Division to forget. As she advanced, Mantis and Lion swept in from her flanks. Soon enough, a steel net would be cast around Uena. Nothing would get past.

A feral smile cracked across her grease smeared face. She could only imagine Dugard’s expression as she humiliated his efforts. Iskadale demanded the strongest; List, her true home, demanded the strongest. Today, she would show how the weak die before the strong. Such was the truest way to live.

Her tank rumbled forth as troopers moved around her. Some soldiers collapsed to the ground from pockets of Moljin resistance who were soon after mercilessly cut down with Iskavalian steel. Adria turned in time to see a child and her mother huddled by a broken wall. A dispute amongst the soldiers holding them at point ongoing. She ordered her tank to stop and jumped to the ground below. Dressed in armored tank fatigues, she walked over to the group.

A small band of shook troopers accompanied her, their eyes scanning the surrounding environment in earnest. The group she walked towards stiffened as they saw her approaching. Adria stood before them but looked at the little girl. “Why haven’t you disposed of them?”

“I — she’s — Ma’am, she’s just a girl. Can’t be older than my daughter.”

Adria nodded. She understood but didn’t at the same time. Everything was so clear. She unholstered her firearm. “As soldiers of the Coalition, we’ve been given explicit orders,” she said. “To disobey is to disrupt the operation of the division. I can’t allow that. A gear must be repaired or replaced.”

A soldier stepped up. Four bars lined his shoulder. A sergeant. “A recent transfer ma’am. Still getting use to our protocol.”

A dangerous glint entered Adria’s eyes. Decision, decisions she thought. How to salvage this situation. She rose her sidearm as she pointed it at the mom and daughter. “A personal demonstration then.”

—

“No!”

Adria woke up. A sheet of sweat formed on her brow as she sucked in air. It took her a moment before realizing she was in her quarters aboard the Jackal. Christ that dream felt so real she thought to herself. She rubbed her throbbing head as she heard her name being called on the intercom. For once, she was glad for the wake up call.

She got up from her bed and pulled on a jacket over her hydration suit. She never bothered to take it off before sleeping. It was a hassle to put on in the first place. Quickly tying the laces on her boots, she was dressed and ready to go.

When she walked out of her quarters was when everything started going to hell. First, she heard the distant boom as the Jackal shuddered. Then what was far away rocked the ship altogether. She smelled the stench of sulfur.

She rushed onto the deck arriving just in time to hear Finn’s conversation with what she assumed was Jinntok, Apostle reading out navs, and Solia complaining about the damage.

Ignoring Solia for now, she moved and looked out an observation window. Those were Iskavalian fighters alright. “Evade those bombs Finn. You better not let them hit my goddamn ship anymore than they have,” she said. She nodded to Apostle. “I thought we set a course that didn’t cross the border. What the hell happened?”

Finally, turning her attention to Solia, she said, “Grab a headset and head down to engineering. Make sure that shield generator holds until we make it Jinntok. Fetch the brat if you need help.” Adria joined Apostle on navigation as she stared at his ‘chicken-scratch’. “Firing on them would send everything into a whirlpool of shit. Apostle, we need the most direct route to Jinntok. Plot it and give the heading to Finn. Do it quick.”

Adria donned the command deck’s radio headset. “Jinntok Military Outpost, this is cargo ship Jackal transit ID M0872J.”

She released the transmit as she listened to static until it cleared and a voice came through. “Go ahead Jackal.”

“I’ve got some Iska fighters really frackin' humping the bunk. Work your magic before I light ’em up and start another frackin' war— all in self defense of course. ”

The radio fell silent for a moment before the operator came back on. “Warning message sent,” the operator said. Adria could hear the barely restrained annoyance in his voice. “Border patrol should be inbound momentarily. Be advised that the Jackal will be locked down upon entry into Jinntok. The Base Commander wants a debrief on why Iska's on our side strafing a supply vehicle. Anything else you need updating on?”

Adria blinked. “Excuse me? We’ve got supplies, that you need. Check that attitude, trooper.”

She disconnected. Oh how she wanted to sock the operator in the face. Of course, the poor, poor man was just doing his job, but the last thing she wanted was to debrief. Oh how those awkward conversations could get. Hell, she didn’t even know why the damn Iskavalian military were hounding them in the first place. Served her right for sleeping in.

Adria changed her line to the Jackal’s internal radio frequency. Those on the bridge could hear her even with the bombardment. Mechanical? That was a different matter altogether. “Solia, you read me?” she said into the mic as she came to a stop by Apostle. “Border patrol’s on their way people. Finn, keep doing what you’re doing. Apostle, updates whenever they should arise.”

A bomb — barely several feet away — rocked the ship as Adria gripped the table. “For fracks sake! Those fighters aren’t messing around.”

She glanced out from the observational window again. In the distance, tiny specs were fast approaching them. She laughed to herself. In different life, she’d order her AA vehicles to tear them up; now, she felt an ounce of relief as they came to the Jackal’s aid.

What a fan-frackin-tastic way to start off another shitty day.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Test Subject Omega-6 "Apostle" Character Portrait: Solia Kleopas Character Portrait: Adria Del Korinth Character Portrait: Darya Character Portrait: Finn Lowell
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Darya stared off into the distance, chin propped in palms, elbows messily splayed on the kitchen counter she was supposed to be using for preparing the crew’s meals. Ha, what a joke. Cooking was just not her thing and after she had figured it was not her thing, she had begun a bad habit of day dreaming in the galley, resulting in rushed meals and a slowed pace in developing any culinary skills.

And it's not like she had been working on those skills prior to joining The Jackal. She couldn’t remember a time she had, had to extensively interact with the galley in her father’s Storm Hunting land ship. Back then, cooking had been last on her list of things to do. Her most extensive interactions had been limited to purifying drinking water for the team and snatching scraps of food for her siblings when the chef's weren't looking.

Sighing, she quickly began assorting whatever ingredients and materials she thought would make for good meals throughout the day. Utensils clanked against each other violently as she frustratedly picked up and threw aside things in a process that had become a ritual part of her daily adventure in the galley.

What had made her join another crew after so desperately wanting to escape her father’s? Well, for starters, this was most definitely not a Phrax Hunting crew. And, secondly, they had saved her from the horrible faith of serving thieves for, likely, the rest of her life. Using her weird water purifying power, it was a huge possibility that the thieves would have never let her escape. And, while they had provided uncanny escape from her father, his crew, and their phrax obsession, she was frightened and unhappy in their prescene.

Once rescued and on the ship, she had been designated a total of two jobs. One, she could happily claim. Being the nurse of crew, while tedious in the actions of patching everyone up, was not something she had an aversion too. Being the chef on The Jackal on the other hand, was not something she liked to do. As mentioned before cooking was not her thing. But she was glad to have something to do when she wasn’t wrapping someone up. She would just have to learn how to cook, and while she did, the crew would just have to suffer with her present cooking.

As she piled together a myriad of items, she heard a more than unsettling boom, and The Jackal shook dangerously. The alarm lights brightened, flashing red in Darya’s vision. Her first instinct probably should have been to make a b-line for the bridge. Not that she had any duties there, but if the ship went down, she would have liked to be where she was sure everyone else was. Instead, she took her precious time grouping her materials back together and shoving them in the tightest corner possible in hopes that another hit would not send them sprawling.

Then, she made her way down the central hallways to the bridge just in time to hear Adria tell Solia,

“Grab a headset and head down to engineering. Make sure that shield generator holds until we make it Jinntok. Fetch the brat if you need help.”

Eh. She assumed brat referenced herself, and, being that brat, she froze at the doorway of the bridge. It didn’t make sense, going any further, if she was going to be dragged right back to the galley, down the hatch, and to the engineering room. Of course, once again assuming, that Solia was going to need her help. It was a bit distressing, knowing she had least amount of skill on the ship, though she figured it came with her age.

Pressing herself against the walls of the hallway, she waited patiently for Solia to come through, and either notice her, or rush by, in which case she would be fine sticking her neck in what was going on, on the command deck. It was always a pleasure to see the crew in action.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Solia Kleopas Character Portrait: Adria Del Korinth Character Portrait: Darya
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Snagging a headset as told, Solia took a few quick steps towards the galley, ready to holler for Darya. She ended up nearly tripping over the girl, coming to an abrupt halt as she turned the corner, finding herself barely an inch from Darya’s chest. Tilting her head up to look Darya in the face, cursing her lack of height and the fact that a girl six years younger than her towered over her, she scowled and said, “You coming?” It never hurt to have an extra set of hands, especially when the pressure was on.

Hurrying down the hall and dropping through the hatch, Solia entered the engine room. The air was hotter in here than any other room on The Jackal, the light dimmer. Bulbs encased in metal cages shone on the walls, casting dark shadows and flickering with each near impact. Steam swirled in the air and the smell of engine grease and oil found its way into Solia’s nose, making her smile. Grabbing the tool belt draped over a pipe, she fastened it around her waist, pulling out a bandana to tie back her unruly hair, which was sticking up all over her head. Jamming the headset on, she threw a pair of leather gloves to Darya. “Put those on so you don’t get burned,” she ordered, neglecting to follow her own advice. Of course, Solia knew which pipes and parts would be safe to touch, but even the best mechanic forgot, and she had the burns and scars to prove it.

“Solia, you read me?” The headset crackled, and Solia winced, Adria’s voice far too loud for comfort. Of course, that wasn’t so different from talking to the woman in person. She fiddled with the headset, and swore. The damn thing’s volume control was busted, so there was nothing she could do about it.

“Loud and clear, captain,” she replied, striding down the narrow path in the center of the engine room, checking gauges and status lights as she went. The dark atmosphere and throbbing beat of the generators always made her think that this was the heart of The Jackal. Let the others fool around on the bridge- this was where the important stuff happened. She ducked off the path, under a pipe and stepping over metal boxes protecting the wiring and pumps of the engine. This was where her small stature was to her benefit- so many important parts of The Jackal were buried in hard-to-reach places. The shield generator was hidden behind a metal cylinder, where steam was heated to incredible levels. “Careful of that,” she warned Darya, and turned to survey the shield generator. It was humming, though it was hard to tell with all of the other noise, and Solia didn’t like the pitch of it. It was working too hard, no doubt, and she had to relieve some of its burden.

Solia handed a wrench to Darya, motioning to the bolts along one side of the contraption, where various pipes and wires connected to the main frame, which was basically a metal box. “Check for loose ones?” she asked. She had to check the internal structure, and the easiest way to do that whithout disassembling the whole thing was, unfortunately, from the bottom. Idiot engineers never thought about the poor mechanics that had to fix the damn pieces while they were jolting all over, being thrown halfway to Sunday.

What day is it? , Solia wondered, as she slid on her back underneath the main box, the sparking power hub at the center singing her nose. Pulling out a flashlight, she yelled to Darya, “Any clue what day it is?” and stuck her flashlight in her mouth, the only way she could hold it and do the work she needed. The shield generator was fed power by the main generator, which ran off Stormphrax. That energy was converted inside the power hub in the shield generator, which tended to get cranky. Drawing out a pair of pliers and a screwdriver, Solia got to work checking the connections and fixing anything that had gotten knocked around. “Shit!” she hissed when she brushed against a loose connection, electricity sparking out and singing her wrist. Biting her lip, she twisted it back into place and carefully wrapped it in tape, the maneuver difficult with her hands as full as they were and the jolting ride they were still enduring. She’d have to come back later and wrap it better, probably even re-solder it. But that was not a job she’d ever even think of undertaking while they were moving- probably not till they’d stopped somewhere and she could take off the protective shell. Sol did not want to get solder on her face.

Pulling the flashlight from her mouth, she spat out the taste of metal and dirt, and yelled to Darya, “See the control panel on top? With all the lights? What color is the third one from the left? Its labeled ‘Power hub!” Sweat trickled down her forehead, and she wiped it impatiently away, leaving a streak of grime across her forehead. She wiggled her shoulders a bit, trying to loosen the tension in them.

“Captain?” Solia said into the headset, while she waited for Darya to report back on the lights, “So far we’re holding together. Just don’t ramp up the power too much, and warn me ‘fore you do any of your crazy maneuvers. Don’t wanna get launched into the steam cell.”

Twisting so she could stick her head partially out from under the generator, she said to Darya, “If the bolts are all good, you might wanna get back up to the bridge- it’s probably safer up there. And more interesting,” she added with a grin. “Just don’t take my wrench.” Jinntok reinforcements should reach them soon, and hopefully, they'd be enough to chase of the Iska dogs. She'd be able to turn her attention to the main generator, then, and the drive belt, which had been worrying her for a while. This latest run could not be good for it.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Solia Kleopas Character Portrait: Adria Del Korinth Character Portrait: Darya
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Darya flinched as Solia’s frame jetted out of the bridge, headset in hand and clearly in a rush. She stopped abruptly in front of Darya, head tilting up to look the taller girl in her face, a subtle scowl lighting up her own and one that Darya could only imagine was caused just by that—having to look up.

“You coming?”

“Uh huh,” Darya managed stammer out, jumping to her feet, excited and adrenaline pumped, to follow her crew mate down the hall. The pair zipped through the galley, hopping down the hatch and making a sharp turn from the crew’s quarters into the engine room.

While she was more than glad to be of some assistance to her crew, Darya could not deny the almost intolerable heat of the engine room. It was enough having to deal with, the at times, deadly heat of the climate they lived in on a daily basis. Darya couldn’t fathom how Solia took so easily to it clearly enjoying the atmosphere of the place. If the incentive to help hadn’t been buried somewhere in the back of Darya’s head, she would have turned tail and fled the sweltering temperatures of the room. As it was, it’s aesthetic appearance didn’t do much to encourage the girl, what with its maze of thick and wiry metal pipes and its eye-irritating steam.

Darya caught the leather gloves (decently she imagined) pulling them on her hands till she could feel the material tight against her fingers. It was nice to know her hands would be protected, but her head swayed back and forth doggedly, warily looking out for hot pipes tall enough to spew smoke in her face.

Darya smirked when she heard Adria’s voice booming from the headset. Or, well, as booming as a voice from a headset could get. The girl followed her crew mate slowly, more carefully, as her tall frame cautiously maneuvered after Solia. While Darya could surely tower over a great deal of women (though she wasn’t sure that ensured her dominance in any way) being so tall had its disadvantages. Unlike Solia, who was practically dancing around the engineering room, Darya was like a fish out of water. A big fish. Big and clumsy.

When they finally reached the generator, Solia handed over a wrench to Darya, indicating for the girl to fiddle with the bolts and look for loose ones. Easy work for an inexperienced person; but Darya was too glad to complain or even make a face, taking the wrench with easy and quickly getting to work. Easy work or not, at least she was doing something. There were few loose bolts here and there and she busied herself tightening them till she was sure they would never loosen again. She wondered what she looked like to Solia. Maybe an overexcited puppy eager to please? It was an amusing thought, and she repressed a smirk as she replaced the head of her imaginary puppy with her own. This was her persona on the ship.

A puppy among jackals.

“Any clue what day it is?”

“Noooope,” Darya answered instantly, popping her mouth on the p, and grinning almost peevishly, more a jab at her unawareness than at Solia. Give her a few days of no adults and complete freedom and it was a hundred percent ensured that Darya would not know what hour of the day it was. Of course, she was supposed to be acting like an adult by now. Wiser, or something like that. But at eighteen, and on The Jackal she felt more like a bumbling toddler among a bunch of unwillingly nannies. Nannies was an amusing way to think of the rest of the crew, but she felt it fit true to the description of their relationship with her. It was less familiarity and more 'better take care of this little shit before she gets hurt'. She was hoping that as she aged, and perhaps matured, she would grow into a different role. But for now, she gladly retained her place as bratty teenager.

“Shit!”

Darya yelped at that, jumping violently, and thanking god copiously that she had not bumped her head on something metal and hard. Solia has singed her wrist, likely from something electical. Before she could react any further Solia had already wrapped herself. Darya made a mental note to check it out later, assuming Solia would concede to her help.

“See the control panel on top? With all the lights? What color is the third one from the left? Its labeled ‘Power hub!”

Darya’s eyes darted to the control panel, pleased that her height afforded her enough leverage that she didn’t have to bend her neck too badly. Fingers dancing over the control panel, just barely brushing it, she looked for the light labeled Power Hub.

“Green.” She reported, double taking once more to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake.

“If the bolts are all good, you might wanna get back up to the bridge- it’s probably safer up there. And more interesting. Just don’t take my wrench.”

“Alright,” Darya said, grinning back as she handed the wrench over.

"Oh and if you want, I can check out that electric burn later." She offered before slipping away.

While she was happy to be of service, she was equally happy to escape the engine room. Catching her face in a particularly shiny pipe, she took notice of its shape, regardless of the blurriness of the image. No doubt, she had become gaunter since her father’s alcoholism and even more so since having been stolen and rescued. She remembered a time when her face had looked healthier, but that was long ago, and she could never remember being in optimal shape anyway.

Making her way back up to the central hall, she sauntered down to the bridge. Hopefully things would go well and the assistance that was being sent would stop the attack before damage became dangerous to the land ship.