• Nobles of Null is a forum based roleplay site where sci-fi and magic collide. Here, Earth remains fractured and divided despite humanity reaching out to the stars. Worse still, the trans-human slaves of one major power have escaped, only to establish their own Empire, seething with resentment at abuses of the past. Even the discovery of aliens, though medieval in development, has failed to rally these squabbling children of Earth together with its far darker implications. Worse still, is the discovery of the impossible - magic. Practiced by the alien locals, nearly depleted and therefore rare, its reality warping abilities remains abstract and distant to the general populace. All the while, unseen in the darkness of space, forces from without threaten to press in. For those with eyes opened by insight, it is clear that an era is about to end, and that a new age will dawn.

Chapter 7 & 8 Intermission 1: Derek's Prologue

Ray of Meep

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Co-authored by: Ikate Keda Studios, PaladinGreco

23XX A.D, ten days after the court decision of Page v. Ambrose, concurrently with the Lancer's mission on Fabron Station

Silbern System, Stahl Belt, Magnuski-Otto Dwarf Planet System, Magnuski Station

Derek was seated on a bench in a booth by the window of a coffee shop near the southern starport section of Magnuski Station. He'd been summoned here by an e-mail from one Ulrike Grau, sent to his fairly new personal account no less. He would have dismissed the mail to the spam can, were it not for the name appearing in the news quite recently. News he was now reviewing on his datapad while he waited for his coffee shop date in his old marine uniform. Luckily Derek did not stand out over-much: there were plenty of other GDW servicepeople in the shop. Nobody paid him any mind, and he was glad of it.

He had recieved a message informing him that he would be meeting with a representative, as the Grau Lancers were on a mission and could not meet him in person. The message was professional, but he could sense a level of haste in the message. Also, the apologetic description of who was going to meet him. He never did expect a company to describe a representative by their... Assets... But when the woman who was decribed walked by the window, it took no brainpower at all to tell who it was.

She seemed irritated, walking quickly towards the door, hurridly putting her hair up into a ponytail. As Ulrike had mentioned, she was quite the cow, and he could definately tell why that was a descriptor even through the sweater she wore. A sweater that also failed miserably at hiding the fact that this woman likely threw the sweater on quickly, without giving much thought. She looked... Typical of a mother. Not the type of person to interview for a Private Militay Contractor.

Derek was a little shocked by both how accurate the description he was sent was, and how little justice it did for the woman he was looking at. His gaze followed her as she crossed in front of the window, more because of the novelty of ever seeing someone of her build in person than anything.

"... On Vaca'ion, dat limey bitch beh'ah not evah tell me tah do dis again," Derek could hear the woman mutter as she walked into the coffeeshop and to the counter, ordering a black coffee. She turned around, scanning the coffee shop as the coffee was poured, and finally locked onto Derek. She picked up her cup and walked to the table, putting on a smile. "Well 'ello dere," She said, much cheerier than she had been half a second ago "Ah take it yer Derek, yeah?" She asked, sitting herself down across from him. "If yer not, den ah'll 'ave ta make a fool of meself a few more times, eh?"

By the time the woman made her way to Derek's table, he was smirking in spite of himself. All at once, she reminded him of his wife grumping about work in her comfy wear on one of their rare shared days off, and broke the illusion with both accent and presence. Some things remained true, no matter who.

Derek did an admirable job of not laughing at the sudden change of Joan's demeanor, but his smirk never quite managed to leave his face as she sat down with her presumptive greetings. Lucky for her, she’d found the right person. “Ah, that won’t be necessary.” Derek began “You’ve found the needle in the haystack. Ms. Ambrose, I presume?” He sounded slightly amused.

"Dah'd be meh, yes," Joan said, reaching into he purse and pulling out an envelope, setting it on the table with a sigh. "As ah figure, deh Grau's 'ave said ya git dis fer showin up. So ah figure yer wonderin whacha been brough' 'ere fer. Grau Lancahs is a small Mercenaray team. Generally deal wif pirates in ovah undesirable da governin par'ies dun wanna mess dere 'ands up wif," Joan explained, drinking from her coffee when she could. "We git away wif a lotta stuff, but we go'ah do sum unfortunate fings ta folk at times as well," She said, setting her cup down. "Ah dun know wha' yer expectin frum dis conversation, ah ain't sum corpera'e floozy talking all grand in such. Dis is da job yer walking intah if yer 'ere. Go'ah slog da shyt at time bu' da pay's nice in all," She shrugged, leaning back in her chair.

"I had no real expectations. I was told someone in the business of thumping heads that need it was looking for my skillset." Derek said as he took the envelope, opened it, and extracted a cash card. He scanned it with his datapad, and let out a low whistle at what he saw. That was a lot for just showing up. Derek put the card back in the envelope, and sat it down on the table next to his coffee cup before speaking again. "Alright, you certainly have my attention now. If it's busting pirates and privateers, I'm interested. I'm also game for dealing with the trash the government seems reluctant to touch for... reasons. If I can do this without the bullshit, great." Derek took a swig from his cup. "I specialize in explosive deconstruction."

"Das besically it, yeah," Joan said with a shrug. "Ah mean, we aint aways da most... Coordinated bunch, but we get jobs done, and we git payed well fer em," She explained. "Sometimes we's get 'urt. Last mission ah was on, I was frown down da apples by a grenade," She frowned. "Fukin 'ospital tried [i[baving[/i] me fer jesus sake!"

Derek nodded at Joan’s assessment of how the Lancers operate, and smiled quietly as she started in on a rant about getting injured and being bathed by the nurses. “You sound a lot like a couple of my buddies back in the space corps after a mission gone bad. And that one sounded like it went plenty sideways. So it all started when...” Derek let his voice trail off as he drank a bit more coffee to give the woman a chance to continue.

"Ah blame da dog..." Joan muttered. "But we 'ad ta jump from da central spine, ta da outah ring yeah?" She sighed. "Ate shit on da way in cause someone didn't git da speeds right, den wif no eyes in da buildin, 'ad ta breach in not kill any 'ostages. Was somefing of a nightmare. So, aftah eatin a grenade demselves, one o' da fuckahs managed to survve right? And 'e tossed a blinking 'nade roight back at us! We 'ad da 'ostages wif us, so ah kicked it, in it sent be down da apples real rough," She shrugged, shaking her head. "Not so bad as when Bee almost lost 'er arm. Fucking dogs ah tell ya..."

Derek’s eyebrows twitched upwards slightly when Joan mentioned kicking a grenade back at the enemy. After all she was damn lucky it hadn’t immediately exploded when she did it. He figured it must have been a single-fuse model, or simply set for time, and that it wasn’t one of the infamously temperamental Soyuz manufactured models that would have exploded anyway. He’d been told that was ‘A Feature’, but preferred designed ones to the accidental, and accident prone, variety.

Derek snapped back to the conversation. “Yeah, they’ll bite back if you corner ‘em.” He made note of the name ‘Bee’ before going over his mental checklist of questions he’d like to ask the otherwise agitated woman, but noted she’d never offered to field any. Derek knew this interview, if you could call it that, was hastily altered at the last second to include Joan, but he got the feeling she was… antsy about something; he just didn’t know what, and had nothing to base a guess on. “So, I already know the pay is good. And the equipment must also be top notch if you’re alive enough to complain after kicking a grenade back at the enemy. Intel being hot trash is not news…. Some things never change. So, what’s next then, assuming I’m in?”

"Uh," Joan said with a shrug. "Ta be 'onest wif ya, ah was just told ta come in make sure ya weren't a psycho," She said simply with an exaggerated shrug. "Ah mean, a dun get any weird feelins from ya, in whie youre a bit oldah den most oh da ones da Grau's intaview, dey nevah last long so... I s'pose dats a bnusfer ya. 'onestly, ah should be wif me nippahs right bout now, but h 'ah ta come in at least meetcha."

Derek burst out laughing, heartily, in spite of himself the moment Joan mentioned checking to make sure he wasn’t a psycho. That was fair, he’d have supposed if he wasn’t so tickled presently, but still funny as Hell when put like that. Derek managed to get himself under control by the time his interviewer mentioned her kids. “Ah, so that’s why you’re antsy,” he began in a knowing tone, “You’ve got little ones, too, huh? I confess I need to pick mine up from school when we’re done here.” He was smiling at this point, visibly more relaxed.

Joan nodded her head, smiling still from his bout of laughter. "Ah 'omeschool meself," She said, leaning back. "Will yer kids be joinin us? Monty's a great teacher fer when ah'm not on da ship, teaches all da 'ittle ones. Ships pre'ay safe too, once you get over the fact its filled wif guns," She explained. "In keep yer kids away from da ship security, dey will 'ave em doin all orts o' fings a kid should really discuss wif dere parents first."
 

Ray of Meep

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“Oh, no. No... not likely,” Derek began, “My little one has friends at school, and my wife to look after her. I wouldn’t want to disrupt her life like that,” he grinned wryly before continuing, “or separate her from momma bear so suddenly.” He frowned. "And from the sound of it, I don't want her wandering the ship either."

"Couple of securi'y guards," Joan said, "First day on da ship, 'adn't bin on board for five hours, 'ad lt Jacob fire a gn, wifout asking me," She said wth a frown. "Dere are worse fings, drugs, acohol, fings like dat, but rubbed me the wrong way none da less."

Derek imagined a firearm in the hands of his 11 year old daughter, and decided right then and there she was not boarding the Lancer’s ship if he had anything to say about it. He’d already taught her how to fight, how to defend herself, if she needed to, but a gun? No. No need for that. “Yeah, I’d object to that, too,” Derek said finally, still wearing his papa bear frown.
 
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