Orbital Decay

[IsabellaRose]

You're docked at Korva Station, a spinning ring of metal and neon suspended above a gas giant, equal parts refueling depot, black market bazaar, and pleasure port. The station never sleeps. Crews cycle through at all hours, flush with credits and starved for company after weeks in the black. The lower decks are where people go when they want to forget. Bars, smoke dens, touch parlors, and worse, all crammed together behind steam-fogged windows and closed doors.

You're sitting in a place called Zero-G. There's no gravity plating in the main lounge, just a slow rotational drift that makes everything float lazily: drink globules, hair, the hem of a skirt. Patrons anchor themselves to padded rails or drift freely in the dim blue light. Music pulses low, something synthetic and warm that feels like it's massaging your spine.

Maybe you came here to drink, to wait out a repair, to lose yourself... whatever the original reason no longer matters. What matters now is what's drifting ten meters to your left.

She's not wearing much, a sheer slip of fabric that passes for a dress in this part of the station, something silvery and clinging that leaves nothing to imagination, riding high on her thighs, sliding off one shoulder. Her feet are bare  and her skin looks vibrant against the metallic shimmer. Her hair floats around her head in a slow halo, loose and lazy. She's got one hand looped loosely around a ceiling rail, and in the other she holds a squeeze-bottle of something violet, taking long pulls from it between half-closed eyes.

She's been watching you, and she hasn't been subtle about it either. Every time you glance her way, she's already looking, chin tilted, lips parted, gaze dragging down your body like she's taking inventory. When your eyes meet, she doesn't look away, she smiles slow, the kind of smile that says I know what I want and I'm bored of waiting.

She uncurls her fingers from the rail and lets herself drift toward you, body loose and liquid in the zero-g. She stops an arm's length away, close enough to reach, far enough to make you choose.

"Buy me another drink?" she asks. Her voice is low, warm, rough at the edges. Her eyes flick down to your mouth and back up. "Or skip it. Your call."

 

- - - - - - -

 

So... who are you, and what do you do? Create a character: name, what you look like, what brought you to Korva Station. Then make your choice:

1. Buy the drink, take your time, let her float closer... see where the conversation leads.
2. Skip the drink and close the distance between you. Put your hands on her hips to steady her in the drift and see how she responds.
3. Play it cool and smile, say something noncommittal, make her work for it, see how far she's willing to push.
4. Do something else. Maybe you've got extra credits, a private berth, a stash of something better than what she's drinking... tell us what you offer.

[Pixel]

Pale blue eyes peered through the several-inch thick plexiglass that was a portal between the people aboard this floating metal jungle and the vacuum of cold nothingness. He could almost see the rotation of the gas giant as his gaze slowly followed the swirls and streaks of highly toxic miasma that made up the gargantuan orb that they never graced with a name, only referred to it as GGP-6769. 

Of course, no one cared about the name, or the planet for that matter. They cared about the outpost he now stood within, trying to block out the sounds of the hustle-bustle whizzing back and forth behind him. Traders, wayfarers, explorers and various other unsavory types found temporary refuge here. He, himself, wanted little more than a moment's solace after the big job he just pulled... and god forbid, maybe even a bottle of classic recipe garlic chili sauce.

The name Dash Lightrunner was one that some may have heard, in the right parts of the wrong outposts. A treasure hunter, primarily, but indiscriminate about what defined "treasure", he frequently found himself more on the end of being a thief and he had a way of upsetting powerful people while scavenging power cells, navigation systems and other useful parts and cargo that didn't belong on the market from derelict commercial freighters and stations.

Said systems came in handy for someone like Dash, especially with the assistance of the right engineers and code monkeys. His ship, the Starstreak, sat docked in another wing of the port while he refueled and made sure heat shielding was up to snuff- something he neglected a single time and learned the hard way to run diagnostics and maintainence on every so often. The Starstreak wasn't a high-end model, but it was, once upon a time, a popular one that one didn't see too often, making it a little more tedious keeping his head down at times. Luckily for him, he had a license identifier installed that would automatically generate new identification every few cycles. Very illegal, but boy, was it useful. Luckily, authorities tended to be too damn thick to find it.

His slender fingers brushed up his thin face to his rich brown hair, which was messy. He could have used a shower, but as his fingers played with the credits in his fitted leather coat's pocket, he thought that maybe he could use a stiff drink that much more. 

He turned on his heels, his eyes catching the neon lights leading to the lifts descended to the lower sector of the station, something of a pleasure district, depending on what one's pleasures may have been. Right now, his own pleasure was a double Dysterian whiskey on the rocks with a splash of Orbit Fizz... Not that he couldn't handle it straight, of course. It was just... A touch of sweetness added a little something.

Whatever gods there may have been out in the freezing black of space, they must have had little mercy for the scents that plagued these lower decks. The scent of hand-rolled cigarettes, also highly illegal depending on the quatrant of the galaxy you found yourself in, fogged the air, drifting out of the open doors of saloons that opted for a more "classic Earth" vibe. Dash never understood people's fascination with that shit hole. It had been nearly uninhabitable for centuries, but relics from those bygone times could still be found nearly anywhere you could go, complete with shitty sounds that they called classic music blaring from the blown speakers of electronic jukebox.

Turning his head to face forward from peering into the various establishments he passed, his gaze fell on the gentle blue glow coming from the polished obsidian black exterior of the Zero-G Lounge. He didn't remember ever seeing the place during any of his past visits to Korva Station. Maybe it was new... Or he was always on the wrong end of the station to happen by it. 

It looked like a higher-end establishment, he could tell by glancing inside as he approached the entrance at the different bodies floating about the dimly lit lounge. Patrons were well-dressed, a bizarre sort of rarity for an outpost. Regulars, businessmen maybe that enjoyed a particular sort of environment. Dash was about to head the other direction, but the vibrations that rumbled under his feet and up his legs made him pause, just for a moment, just to feel it. 

"Ah, what the hell.", He sighed, looking every bit the rogue he was as he headed inside. The moment he set foot over the threshold of the entrance his feet lifted from the well-polished floor and he drifted into the lounge. A hand quickly shot up to his waist around his back to make sure an item he shouldn't have been carrying didn't accidentally slip out. He was armed. His usual arms were checked in after he docked, as was the policy of the station, but he'd found that those rules didn't always apply to everyone, so they couldn't apply to him either. A printed polymer sidearm was more than enough, and undetectable when stepping through security scans. 

Noting that the firearm was secure, he floated to the bars illuminated top and ordered his beverage. They didnt have Orbit Fizz, they carried the sickly sweet competing brand. His nose scrunched up at the idea, but beggars couldn't be choosers and he opened a tab.

As he drifted slowly though the zero-gravity lounge, he sipped at his drink, savoring the burn of the alcohol sliding down his throat and lingering there a bit more than usual in the environment. He always hated eating and drinking in zero-g, but he found himself a little more relaxed than he likely should have allowed, the music pounding in his chest and pulsing through his limbs. 

He raised the bottle to his lips and paused, catching a bright glint in his peripherals. Over the curve of the bottle, his eyes peered over to his left to see a woman, elegant, yet somehow not exactly conservative all at once. He could see her eyes looking hisnway, but he didn't meet her gaze, he made note of the way she dressed and how she most certainly showed off the shape of her body, wrapping it meticulously in something... thin. Something that would draw the eyes to what she was showcasing. The light tone of the fabric contrasted beautifully with the tone of her skin, the thin fabric floating around her hips as her hair danced around her head, not unlike the mermaids described in old Earth legends.

For a time, Dash played a game of visual tag with the woman, he looking her way, she looking his, assessing one another in some way or the next, but never locking gaze, until finally, their eyes met. He rights himself somewhat, turning to face the woman as he noticed she decided to take the step to approach him. 

She stopped close to him, but not too close. He could have reached out and touched her, had he been a man of poorer constitution. It was then that her voice cut through the sound of the music in the air, suggesting that he foot the bill for her next libation.

"Mm.", Dash purred as his tongue traced over his lips after lowering his drink. "Forward.", He added, quite simply, looking at the bottle the woman already held in her delicate grip. His blue eyes met with hers and he nodded down to it. 

"Did you buy this one yourself, or did you stare for an unnecessarily long time at another one of these suckers and get him to order it for you?", He asked, the corner of his lips curled up very slightly, giving away that he asked playfully. "Can't say I'd blame them. That dress is lethal.", He added, his eyes lingering over her body briefly and returning to meet her gaze again.

[IsabellaRose]

Mara's lips curved into a slow, genuine smile at his compliment about her dress, a flicker of warmth in her eyes that cut through the practiced seduction.

"Lethal is the look I was going for," she said, her voice a low purr that drifted between them in the zero-g. She took a slow sip from her squeeze-bottle, her gaze never leaving his. "I bought this one myself. Wasn't anyone else in here I wanted to owe something to." She let the implication hang in the air between them, heavy and sweet as the vaporized alcohol. The unspoken part was clear: until now.

His game of visual tag, his playful jab... she was being tested. The fact that he played, that he didn't immediately pounce, meant he'd passed her own test. Most men were either too eager or too intimidated. He was just... possibly interested, and actually interesting.

God, finally.

He was the first man all night who hit the perfect trifecta. He was attractive under the station's dim lighting. He wasn't so polished he looked like a station exec, but also not so grimy he looked like a spacer who'd been eating nutrient paste for a month straight. But most importantly, he was actually present, not lost in his own head, not too drunk to focus, just here, in the moment. He looked like he might work in a similar profession as she did, something that involved staying off the grid and moving fast. The way he'd reached up under his jacket to check what she assumed must be a piece when he drifted in, the casual confidence in his eyes... yeah, he was dangerous. That was exactly how she liked her men. A little risk made the reward sweeter. Besides, she still had thirty-some hours to kill until the Jovian mechanics she hired finished retrofitting those new maneuvering thrusters onto the Second Chance. That was a long time to float around this station bored out of her skull. With time to kill, and a couple drinks in her, this guy could be the perfect distraction.

"I'm Mara," she said, extending a hand, letting it drift closer to his, an open invitation, "and I've got a room two levels up. Got a shower, a private bar, and significantly less of this thumping noise." Her eyes dropped to his lips for a fraction of a second before meeting his pale blue gaze again. "Might be a place for two people to get to know each other better."

Please say yes, she thought. Even if they never used that bed, just simple conversation with someone moderately interesting would be better than floating around here by herself like an offering.

[Pixel]

As the mysterious woman spoke, Dash's eyes remained focused on her, taking in every micro expression, every twitch of her brow, but more than anything he kept close watch on where her eyes were going. It was more than necessity in his lifestyle to be able to read people and, more importantly, read a room. While he watched to see if her eyes drifted away from him, possibly looking to a partner in crime that could have been behind him, his gaze quickly darted back and forth to the various bodies in the lounge, searching for anyone who may have been paying a little too close of attention to them. 

The problem was, he couldn't get a proper read on her.

A woman looking and behaving as she did didn't exactly scream desperation, she could have any man she wanted with just a look, yet she was the one to approach him. He was the least quality looking man of what seemed like any in the lounge, that didn't exactly speak to her being a gold digger either. This outpost was likely filled with men - and women - who hadn't so much as seen a woman in days, maybe even weeks, who would be overeager to make the acquaintance of this celestial siren.

So, what was it that she really wanted?

He wasn't oblivious to the fact that while he assessed her, she was running her own assessments on him, coming to the realization that every word was calculated, every action run through potential scenarios of what it could lead to. Like him, she was guarded, meaning this interaction was either out of cautious interest, or something a bit more transactional... perhaps a bit of both.

Her hand extended towards him and she offered a name: Mara... if that was even her name. His attention stayed fully fixed on her eyes, lifting his bottle to his lips. He peered down at it under his nose for a moment, realizing that aura was lost when holding a ridiculous squeeze bottle over an actual glass, but he returned his attention to her just as quickly and lowered the bottle, letting it float in front of him as he let go to take her hand, allowing it to rest delicately over his palm, his thumb stroking over her knuckles briefly.

"Dash.", He responded... if that was even his name. She wasn't finished, the pause was brief as he returned the introduction and she offered a retreat to her quarters. Did she live on this outpost, or was she here for an extended duration and favored a more comfortable stay in the meantime? 

"Mm-hmmm...", He chuckled in a dragged-out breath through closed lips at her proposal, his tongue rolling around the inside of his mouth. "A private bar... You're offering me a drink, now? Quite a jump... Mara.", He said, a small grin crossing his face. Generally, when invited to a room for more privacy, one kind of thumping sound would be exchanged for another, yet he still couldn't pin exactly what it was that she was interested in. 

His ego burned for an answer to the question of what drew her to him, but his curiosity won out, fascinated with observing her and letting her give herself away. "What exactly is it that I would owe you?", He asked, addressing what she said about not asking anyone else to buy her a drink before him.

Edited 5 hours ago by Pixel

[IsabellaRose]

Mara's lips curved, a genuine flicker of amusement in her eyes at his question. He was sharp, she'd give him that. Most men would have already been floating toward the exit, eager to take her up on the offer without a second thought. Dash... he was still trying to solve the puzzle. She liked that. It would make the eventual surrender more satisfying, if it went that way.

He's still trying to figure the angle, she thought, her own gaze flicking over the sharp lines of his face, the way his messy hair floated around his head. Thinks there's a catch. Thinks I want something more than what I'm offering. Poor bastard's probably spent his whole life looking for the knife hidden in the handshake. She saw the same guarded calculation in his eyes that she knew was in her own. It was the look of someone who'd learned the hard way that trust was a liability you couldn't afford. It was the look she usually wore.

She leaned in, closing the small gap between them, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was easily swallowed by the lounge's thumping bass. "You're overthinking it, Dash. The math is simple." She let her fingers trail lightly down his arm, a feathery touch in the zero-g. "I've got thirty-some hours to kill until my ship is ready. I've already had the best meal this floating tin can has to offer, and this..." she held up her own squeeze bottle, "...is passable at best. But what I really want right now is something hot and dirty."

Her eyes held his, a direct, unblinking challenge. She saw the flicker of understanding there. "I picked you because you look like you know how to have a good time without making it complicated."

She let her hand drift back to her side, giving him space. "I'll tell you a little secret," she said, her voice returning to its normal volume. "This isn't how I normally dress. I'm a freighter pilot. Name's Velez, and my ship's the Second Chance." She gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. "This is my 'I'm bored and I want to get laid' uniform. Not that it has to go there right away, but I know what I want, so if you're not interested, just say so. I won't waste your time."

She watched him, letting her words hang in the air between them. It was as honest as she could be, stripped of the games and the posturing. It was an offer, plain and simple. A transaction, yes, but one where the currency was pleasure, not credits or secrets. She'd laid her cards on the table. Now it was his move.