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@Josh Herrick provides a lovely side vignette of refugee characters while the officers are off discussing matters:


((Refugee War Room ( Mission Specific Module ), Deck 7, USS Octavia E Butler))

The conference leader, Promontory, had let the group take a short reprieve after settling some of the more immediate demands from the team. The universe would be bland if everyone was the same, but still some of these people were a bit much to stomach. Cliques had already started to form; each with their own wants and motivations. Could she blame them?

Donda: (murmuring while looking out to space) A small detour.

As she stared into the void, she felt goosebumps on her skin, and turned to see what triggered them and instinctively stepped backwards. There was a man, just slightly too close for comfort.

Grunk: Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just (looking back) wanted to find a quiet corner during the break, and you didn’t seem to be the ‘chatty’ type of the group.

Donda wasn’t sure if that was a statement, insult, or compliment, but true to his words, didn’t respond. Instead, she looked him up and down.

He was about 7 feet tall; he almost towered over her small five-foot frame. His skin pitch black, like space, and his eyes were blood red, the same as the dress that she was wearing. She’d not seen him in the mines, and the closest she’d seen to someone of his race were the old fictional recordings of demons. His attire was white leather, creating a sharp but elegant contrast.

Grunk: (clearing his throat) So, what does your group want?

Small talk, manners, social niceties; these things seemed to have returned to the others faster than Donda.

Donda: (bluntly) Freedom.

Grunk: While we’re there now, thanks to these… stylistically challenged folk. What they lack in fashion sense they’ve certainly made up for in their liberation skills.

Donda: (glancing him over again) Are you sure you weren’t just coming here to check out your reflection?

The tall figure’s expression turned to one of mock hurt.

Grunk: I find that when you want to be respected, or get something, you need to look the part. Wear rags and you’ll probably get dumped off at the first stop. Don’t judge too harshly, it’s politics rather than vanity.

Donda: So, what are you lobbying for then?

Grunk: To be honest, I could care less about the group that I’m representing. I didn’t ask for this; I just tend to stick out amongst the bunch. We had a small settlement in the mountains; escapees from the mines that were living in fear each day, praying that they wouldn’t be discovered. (beat) That fear, that distrust, has continued onboard. I think they’d be perfectly fine with some sort of refugee as long as they’re kept together.

Donda: And you?

Grunk: I’m not sure… Fate tends to choose for me; I just go along for the ride. ::glancing down at her dress and then back at her:: So, what made you choose this?

Donda: (offering a small smile) Fate.

He wasn’t what she was expecting, not a demon, nor vain. Just someone trying to play the odds for the best possible outcome and Donda could respect that.

Grunk: How about you and your ‘group’?

Donda: Most want to return to their home worlds. I don’t think they feel ready to make it out on their own and will be rather distrusting of others for quite some time.

Grunk: And you’ll return home as well?

Donda: (abruptly) No.

There was no delay from her mind to her mouth. Even though she didn’t know where she was heading, she knew she wasn’t going back to the Teplan system.

Donda: (looking back out the viewport) That seems like backtracking; I’m not sure.

Grunk: ::stepping beside her:: I see.

And the tone carried in his voice made Donda think that he really did get what she meant.

The two stood there in silence for a few moments. Donda could feel head radiate off the man.

Donda: oO His species must have a higher metabolism. Oo

In that moment, Donda felt her former self scratching at the surface — the scientist she was is.

She noticed Grunk's smile, was he an empath or just enjoying the moment?.

It was brief though, as sirens started blaring with some sort of alert. There must be something wrong with the translator software as she wasn’t sure why the officers would fear the colour yellow, particularly since one of them was wearing it.

What did fate have in store for them?



Quasi-Representative of Refugees


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