Slowly, passionately, fuck this.
She squints against the sun, skin baked by solar radiation and waves of heat rising from the arid earth. Her boots are firm upon the cracked ground, caked in the dust of this world, crushing scrub carelessly underfoot. The outpost isn’t much too look at, a glorified speeder stop, frequented mostly by lewd graffiti and roadside garbage. Travelers pass through from time to time. They always do. It’s just a nowhere on the way to somewhere, a necessary changeover where wanderers keep their heads down and their eyes in their own business.
She had been one of them, stare examining the ground, hands shoved surly in trouser pockets, legs crossed and back against the frame of the corrugated permasteel shelter. Quiet paranoia was never begrudged here.
The lander hovers, spitting up sand. The shriek of the engines renders even the most careful listener deafened. She glances up with her eyes, head still tucked low, and watches with studied disinterest - as she knows those other liminal souls echo. The sense of stiffening in her peripherals, the way the sparse other occupants of the shelter take stock of the newcomer, hands at rest over the grip of their sidearms.
And still the lazy overhead fans churn, circulating hot air.
She shields a hand over her eyes, chews back a frown.
What a lithesome form to hit the ground. Is this a fucking joke? Shitkicker boots and cargoes don’t hide that body. But she’s studied that face. Waited for it. And now she does frown -almost. Her lips tug, annoyed in assessment, in the way she knows the travelers are edgy, waiting for the narrative they expect turn south in less than a click.
She pushes off from the wall in a single motion, hands out of her pockets and casually,deliberately at her sides. It’s a long, slow walk, these few paces to cross the distance. It feels too long, and sure as shit too exposed. But that’s how it has to be. Nice and easy.
She stops full short of a couple of meters, puts her hands on her hips, near her holster, and shoots a little smile. “Our friend told me to give you the ol’ Pandoran welcome. Let’s get you cleaned up in town and I’ll show you around.” She patted a pocket against her thigh, hitting the transceiver she knows will activate her charge’s authorization. “I’m looking forward to it.”
It’s not exactly borderlands hospitality, but then, no one - absolutely no one - wants to know what real borderlands hospitality looks like.
DUST FIGHTS with hastily tied back hair, the speeding away transport little help for it or the razing heat that raises off the white yellow sand. She was warned Pandora is a shit hole, but feeling the sand and cracked ground crunch beneath her boots - she realizes it’s more than that. It is THE SHITHOLE. Full of squinting locals, hands ready to materialize weapons - and bandits who don’t wait to pull them. It’s hard to keep the disgust off her face, only the threat of sand in her mouth keeps her facial expression neutral.
She doesn’t have to wait long, while the rest of the travelers mill about with a frown of disinterest or a snarl of open hostility, one stands and starts to cross into the open. Onika’s instructions were clear, and she supposes she could have moved toward the town to meet - but whomever is to be her guide is going to meet her in the open. Is going to walk away from the shady protection of the people and meet her on barren ground.
And for this reason she is surprised when she doesn’t have to wait. With a cool confidence her protection walks out, and Onika memorizes every detail, ever single movement and character trait. She moves with finesse, Onika gives her that much. A small smile appears at that there is something almost military about it, but it is rusty - too long without. That’s good, if there is one thing Onika can’t stand it’s military and it’s nearly neurotic need for cleanliness and order.
Still she stays standing, until this woman stops in front of her. She’s strong, her profile distinct, hands casual enough in danger to not twitch. Yes, Jack had chosen well, as if that is surprising. The two mirror each other, as her protection puts her hands on her hips Onika slips hers beneath her breasts, folding them against her rib cage as she stares at the other with the same evaluating gaze as this woman gave in return. The moment she speaks though, her words distinct and clear - Onika returns them with a bright grin.
It’s the prettiest thing she owns, this smile, and she uses it to perfect ability as her hands drop to her sides and she steps toward the woman. “ Good, then let’s not waste time. Lead the way. ” She keeps herself a step behind and to the right, her eyes watching her every moment, but the grin doesn’t fade other than to become slightly closed. “ You may call me Onika, or Doctor Onika if it’s poignant to wave around my credentials. And what should I call you?”
But she stops a step from following, looking down at herself. Her clothes were provided, the clinging jumpsuit with it’s bright white and her cargoes, she nods. “ And you’re right, a change in attire may be necessary. It appears our friend may be a bit unfamiliar with the phrase ‘ lay low ‘.” She laughs a little to herself before raising her head to look the woman in the face, that same beaming smile on her lips. “ But you have to admit, it will keep people from noticing you as much. An unseen benefit. ”
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