Starship pilot who's stuck in a bar full of mech pilots and marines
I will not cross the streams
I will not cross the streams
I will not cross the streams
BR247516-I "Berry" fought the urge to hide under the long table Kyra had claimed for their own. This bar her operative had brought her to on the miserable dirtball called Sorry Not Happening was... loud. Chaotic. Aggressive. Incorrect. But they had to meet one of Kyra's contacts here, so the clone pilot stayed put, all alone on her stickier-than-expected pleather bench that could easily seat half a dozen.
Also, given how bad... almost everything in here was, she did not want to discover what horrors might be waiting for her under the rickety, scarred top.
A fight broke out not too far from where they were sitting – where Berry was sitting, because Kyra had recently gotten up to go get more drinks. For them. Berry still wasn't used to that, a naturalborn waiting on someone like her, but she was trying to accept it. Had no choice but to accept it, because she hadn't met anyone that could make Kyra do anything she didn't want to – or stop her from accomplishing what she set her mind to.
The bench she was sitting on unexpectedly and violently went sideways, scraping across the cheap tiles with a deafening screech as a heavy body impacted it, and Berry lost what little dubious cover the table had provided her. She tried to make herself as small as possible. Not attract attention.
The person that'd crashed into Berry's seat was struggling to get back to their feet, their large body dwarfing Berry's so many times. Too many times. She'd never seen a human that big. Was this... someone like her? But genetically engineered for... size? Hardiness? Strength? But if so, not by her company, because she didn't recognise the gene-line. Saw no identifying markers. And their clothes were extremely incorrect if they were. Not that Berry was one to throw stones, as she sat there in the extremely incorrect jacket Kyra had bought for her.
The shaven-headed woman, for she was definitely a woman, had risen to her feet. Cast around for a weapon. Grabbed the bench. Impossibly massive muscles bunched beneath pale skin marked by too much action, too much death and destruction – but also some glimmers of creation. With a grunt, she lifted it clean off the ground. Over her head.
Berry yelped but manage to cling on for dear life, helped by just how sticky the damn thing was – the possible reasons for which her mind shied away from, even in these dire straits she found herself in.
"Sorry, din't see ya there, miss..." the woman-mountain apologised gruffly. Put her back down, bench and all. Hesitated.
Berry suddenly got a really close up look as the stranger – a sergeant of some kind, judging by the neck tattoos she could see – got in her face, eyes narrowed. A meaty, dirty hand grabbed Berry's face, swallowed it as she was inspected. Like meat.
"Wait, yer one a them damn fakes, aren'tcha? I recognise yer face, you... you thing." came out with a growl. The scarred fingers squeezed, and Berry cried out in pain, soft hands ineffectually scrabbling to try and free herself. "Unholy abomination! Ya shoudn't be in here, actin' like a people!"
"Hey bitch! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"
An almost full mug sailed through the air, smashing against the aggressor's head, dousing her in beer. Another followed not an instant later, covering her vast back in a constellation of glittering shards – and more cheap, foul-smelling ale. After a few seconds, a third mug hit her elbow, making her drop Berry. Not a drop of liquid in this one.
Paladin and Wheels gave Maverick matching looks of disapproval.
"What? It might taste like third-hand recycled piss, but it's a crime to waste any beer, girls!" She belched loudly. "Now let's go rescue our damsel in distress!" And with a yell, she jumped on the broad back, clinging on as the woman tried to buck her off. "Aw yeah, rodeo time! Come on, ya brute, show me what you've got! I've ridden large and scarier things than you!"
Berry slowly crawled to safety. Discovered the floors here were even worse than the bench had been. This was why she preferred to stay on their ship. In a nice, quiet environment she had control over. Where there were rules she knew and understood. Where nothing chaotic ever happened.
Naturalborn were incomprehensible.
She was just glad Kyra wasn't there. Of course, if she had been, the sergeant would probably never have lifted the bench. Still, things could have been worse.
Berry looked up, and her eyes met Kyra's, who was just returning with the drinks. Her operative took in the stark handprint on her pilot's face, eyes flicking to the valiant trio of women battling the giant marine, two of them baiting her like toreador of old while the third one kept punching her in the head – while singing something about riding a tornado of all things, for some reason.
"Here, Berry, hold on to these for me, will you? Good girl." Kyra's voice was detached as she offered Berry the drinks, and her pilot automatically accepted them. Kyra took a deep, joyful breath of fetid dive bar air, her eyes shuttered, barely hiding the 7000 pounds of rabid honey badger stuffed into 200 pounds of human...
One last moment of relative calm before the storm... before she exploded into action.
That's when things got really messy.
"good girl"