Welcome to Trader's Edge (The RP)

[Psion]

(okay, better try and start something before interest wanes. Please post your character sheets [if they are not already available elsewhere] and all major setting questions here: [ame="http://www.scififur.net/forum/showthread.php?t=480"]Welcome to Trader's Edge - SciFiFur.net Community Forums[/ame])

As your shuttle takes you closer to the Trader's Edge, the donut-shaped space station comes into view. The station's biosphere, forming the inner most layer of the station ring, contrasts the gunmetal gray of the lower two decks.
Looking out the other viewport, a steady stream of traffic could be seen coming and going from the main hangers. Tramp traders and the shuttles of larger freighters and passenger liners merge together into one continous stream of goods and people coming and leaving the station.
Sharing the cavernous passenger compartment of the shuttle with you is a motley band of individuals. Fellow travelers of all species, some staring without meaning to, are often seated next to battered human refugees and frightened ex-slaves; the freedom of these individuals the result of a raid performed by elite Human Hegemony stormtroopers. These warriors of the furless aliens sit further up towards the bridge of the ship. Their caraparce armor and dour demeanor as they cleaned their weapons for the upteenth time since you got on the shuttle sharply contrasting to the well-dressed and lightly armed security officers standard on any shuttlecraft.

[Brome Teks]

(Might as well start here. Is there a particular preferred format for the Character sheets?)

(Edit: Oh wait, saw it in the prep forum)

Name: Tad Machina
Occupation: Developmental engineer for the Corona Science Corporation.
Abilities: Is well versed in the fundamentals of electronics, spaceship hulls, engines, experimental hyper dimensional weapons, and baking. No combat abilities though.
Description: He is essentially an anthropomorphic River Otter, Kinda on the short and skinny side. He looks every bit the geeky little thing that he is, being all skin and almost no muscle. He wears a simple looking blue tee shirt and khaki shorts. He has no particular head hair to speak of, and his eyes are brownish green.
Equipment: Pen/pencil/stylus, Hologram display computer (Size of modern laptop), clothes for duration of stay, personal defense chemical weapon (e.g. something like pepper spray, but might knock the person out.), and one extremely high security computer storage medium which holds the company's latest designs. (The computer and storage are being kept in a well locked brief case, with full mechanical and electrical locks. The thing is designed so that a full biometric scan has to match up with some one approved to open the lock, and numerous other security measures too. )

[Brome Teks]

Tad sits with the bulk of the passengers, his mind wandering in thought. He looks over all the others, his hand resting atop the briefcase in his lap. He leans his head back. He mutters under his breath, "Why did they insist we meet them here... What's wrong with a nice secure location?" He lifts his head back up, looking over the other passengers again.

"Station probably doesn't even have a lab we can use... I'm so filing a complaint with Eclipse Inc. They want to work with us on products, they can do it in a proper environment." He sighs, looking off into the distance while he waits for the shuttle to dock with the station.

[Psion]

(Sorry for the wait, didn't realize anyone posted. And yeah, there is no offical character sheet. And I see no problem with your character either... although I have to ask, baking?)
The shuttle intercom crackled to life, a smooth masculine voice echoed over it. "Attention, this is the pilot speaking. Sorry for the delay, station traffic was backed up due to the arrival of the mega freighter Harvest Goddess a few hours ago. I'm happy to report that the blockage has been cleared and we will be docking within five minutes. Thank you for your understanding in this matter."
Further down from the otter, the human marines talked amongst themselves. Most are quiet, either focused on weapon maintenance, their guns are clearly and purposely left unloaded to prevent anyone accidently blowing a hole in the hull, or spending a precious few minutes staring off into space; reflecting on something that only they know.
A few however, and you can tell their behavior isn't particularly well tolerated by how the others in their unit are glaring at them, are talking about their last mission.
"Oh my gawd, I musta killed ten of them five minutes after planetfall." A skinny one with an accent you can't quite place begins.
"Yeah, those damn scalies never stood a chance. Soon as our dropship landed it was boom-boom-bang and our lost bros weren't growing their narc-weeds anymore!" The larger one, speaking slowly and laughing without provocation, replied.
As their sergeant walked by to quietly make sure the refugees were alright and his unit wasn't scaring the civilians, the worn veteran scowled at them. "Lots of critters already stole humanity's dignity since last year boys, knock it off and don't let them cart off the honor of the Corps too." He growled before moving further back towards the civilian passengers. "Is everyone alright back here? We aren't scaring anyone are we?" He asked while trying to laugh.

[Brome Teks]

(Well sure. It's an important life skill, and it pays to have a hobby for when you're not working.)

Tad flicks an ear back towards the marines. He sighs. Being in close proximity to creatures who are so ready and eager to fight was a bit unnerving. He keeps a tight grip on the brief case. .o( About time we finally dock... )

The sergeant moved back and asked, "Is everyone alright back here? We aren't scaring anyone are we?"

Tad sighs. "No, not at all. I've heard about military actions before, this is nothing particularly unnerving to me," He says, trying to avoid confrontation of any kind.

[Psion]

(It's fine, it just struck me as random that's all. =P)

The sergeant recognized the anthro's polite unease and shrugged, unfortunately he had to keep an eye on Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee so he pretty much had to start a conversation with someone nearby. "So what brings you to Trader's Edge? Not many aliens want to come to Hegemony space, especially not after that fiasco on New Portugal."

[Brome Teks]

"Oh, I was just coming in for business reasons. Another company insisted that I meet with their head of engineering here for us to collaborate on a project. I'm not allowed to divulge further details beyond that." He shyly looks away.

[Slate]

Name: Cutsyr Nat'an

Occupation: Traveling Trader, Craftsman, Artisan, Former Soldier.

Abilities: An expert haggler from years of trading experience, he is also fluent in many languages as a result. His skill as a craftsman and artisan is legendary in certain circles. He was a very capable soldier during his service, and can therefor hold his own and then some in a conflict, but this is hidden beneath a calm and jolly demeanor.

Description: Anthro-dragon in appearance, Cutsyr stands just over 8 feet tall, and has a proportionally heavy build. He has no wings, but there are two scars and slight nubs where wings would be on his back, along with 4 parallel scars are on his left shoulder. These are covered by a fairly simple shirt and vest. His scales are greyish/silver, accented by blue plate scales that run down his neck and torso. There are also smaller plate scales on the top of his head and run down the back of his neck between two straight horns. Age wise, he appears to be in his late twenties. His eyes a very dark grey, almost black, with light green irises. Although his wealth is equal to that of a small fortune, his clothes are fairly simple, almost lower middle class.

Equipment: When not packed away for security reasons during travel, he keeps a small tool pouch on his person allowing him to be able to repair or create a number of small things, typically personal electronics. He also usually has a writing utensil, either pen or pencil, and a small 8x6 sketchpad.
((Hopefully that should suffice. If I need to change anything, let me know))
************************************************** **********

Cutsyr was cramped, even though he was sitting on the edge of the main group of passengers. He was sketching something in his small booklet with a pen, but to his dismay the tool was running out of ink, and it didn't take long before it was gone. Cutsyr looked at the pen and smiled. He looked around at the passengers, and spotted a soldier and an otter. The dragon stood up, and made his way to them, doing his best to not to bump into anyone, with only a small amount of success. Though he did say 'pardon me' whenever he did bump into an individual.

"Excuse me gentlemen, but one of you would not happen to have a pen or pencil you would be willing to part with, would you not?" he kindly asked. His voice was deep and distinct, with a slight accent of a seemingly unknown language. "You see, my pen has run it's course, leaving my sketch somewhere in the middle of the trail."

[Brome Teks]

Tad blinks at the sight of the towering dragon. After the dragon asks his question, Tad stammers. "Uh.. Uh yeah, I have one..." He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a cheep little mechanical pencil. .o( Of all the people he chooses to come and ask... )

He holds out the pencil for the seemingly giant creature.

[Jett]

["Matches" Force-hand, a human pyromniac.

He lives in Trader's Edge as a 'gamer', offering people entertainment in games of chance and putting on acts. He is also skilled in slight-of-hand.

He always has a match sticking out of his mouth. He his squinty-eyes that look black and blond, short, spiked hair. He is quite built for someone who acts so much like a rogue, and is always topless. His tan pants are loose-fitting with one cargo pocket on one side, and a black bandanna around his knee on the other side. He has huge feet always caked in dry dirt and is always barefoot.]

(Rather than filling out an OC I feel like this would be more comprehensive. KK? And I saw a link, but that OCs were being posted directly here instead. I hope posting here is fine.)

[Psion]

The sergeant remained expressionless at the sight of the big dragon but several skittish refugees visibly backed away; closer to the reassuring sight of the other tough-looking men with their meancing guns.
Not as quick as Tad, the military man had his hand halfway to his pocket by the time the otter produced a pencil.
The intercom interrupted any further conversation. "Attention passengers, we are approaching a berth now and will be docking shortly. Please gather up all your things as the shuttle can only stay for half an hour at the most. Once dockside, please follow the green line on the wall to customs where you will be divided up between Hegemony soldiers, travelers, and ref... I mean, prospective citizens of our democratic society. Please follow all instructions given by security and customs officials as they are here to ensure that your stay is both safe and productive. Thank you and enjoy Trader's Edge."

[Psion]

Five minutes pass and the ship docks with a faint lurch barely felt in the ship. Outside, in the cramped shuttle hanger of Trader's Edge, dozens of other travelers and the occasional refugee slowly head towards the customs office. Soldiers of the Hegemony, apparently human without exception, marched in double file to a billet building seperate from the customs building.
Other ships transferred cargos from across the galaxy, from basic foodstuffs and raw materials to finished consumer electronics and the finest New Jenovian wine. Bored merchants of countless species conversed and argued with uniformed security guards, individuals that looked a bit more hardened and experienced then the ones guarding the shuttle.

[Slate]

"Well my friends, take care." said the large dragon standing up once the docking procedures were complete. "I do hope we meet again soon. And remember, even if you don't know where you're going, go there with purpose!" he smiled, walking out with the other passengers.

Once on the station itself, he moved off to the side to let others pass by. He took a deep breath and looked around. The bustling of people, the artificial structures, those with hopes of a new and better life... The culture alone was enough to make him want to come here, however, not the main reason. Cutsyr wanted to find potential clients and customers, perhaps even that one item of great value that gets over looked because it is seemingly junk. One of the local taverns would be his first stop.

"Pardon me... Excuse me..." he said, wading through the crowded area. 'Hopefully I don't get lost.' he thought to himself.

[Brome Teks]

Tad stands and stretches, still clutching the briefcase tightly. When he gets an opportunity, he steps into the aisle and towards the hatch, through the docking lock and onto the station.

.oO(Now, to find the guy I'm supposed to meet...) He thinks to himself as he makes his way into the station past the people.

[Psion]

(sorry, have one last hoop before I led you to Screwy Louie's)
At the spartan customs office, a bored woman in her mid-thirties appraises both of you as she scans your passports from behind a non-descriptive metal desk. Security officers dressed in light "flak" armor are all posted at strategic positions. "State your names and business at Trader's Edge. After that, please step through the security scanner to check for weapons."
Behind her a pair of guards in their early twenties look at one another before regarding the dragon with a wary eye. The attack on New Portugal was carried out by saurian raiders, some distrust still lingered amongst the survivors of that raid.
Looking around, the room is noticably sparse. A few potted plants of various species, both Earth born and alien, are placed sparingly for effect while a few posters... well, propaganda was propaganda no matter what the message was or how nicely it was presented. A pair of humans, male and female, of indeterminant ethnicity starred in a series of images. Two in particular were larger then the others. One was an poster of the two inside a workshop or factory of some kind, the words "Industry is Life" forming a circle around them. The other, a picture of them both dressed in the armor you saw the marines wearing, bore the words "Suffer not the slaver, the pirate, or the criminal."

[Brome Teks]

Tad looks around the customs office as he makes his way through the security station.

"Thaddeus Machina, here on business for the Corona Science Corporation." He steps through the security checkpoint, forgetting about the small canister of chemical knockout spray in his pocket. As for the brief case, it was a state of the art security device. Nothing would be able to penetrate the outer case to see inside of it.

[Psion]

The security guard scanning Tad and his suitcase had the same bored expression everyone else in Customs had. The chemical spray was a relatively harmless self-defense weapon, forgetting to declare it was a minor faux paus compared to trying to smuggle in a sword or unlicensed assault rifle. A small citation frequently ignored as it often wasn't worth filling out the paperwork.
However, when the equipment scanning the otter's briefcase couldn't penetrate it, a small alarm rang out. A second guard promptly appeared, took Tad to a small table set aside the line of people trying to get through customs and gingerly picked up the "offending" suitcase. The design engineer would notice that the guard picked up the suitcase in a manner that would not set off any traps or security devices. Carefully setting it down, the burly guard, a huge man dressed in midnight black armor, turned the suitcase handle first towards Tad.
"Sir, I need you to open this for me. As per Post-Portugal protocol #9340, I need to verify you are not carrying contraband or illegal weapons; that is all." He stated in galactic standard, his tone diplomatic but business-like and betraying no emotion.

[Brome Teks]

"Oh, yes, of course." He pushes a small button on it. A holographic 3D Grid appears over the brief case, He places his hand in it as The brief case scans his face. After a moment, if finishes. "Input access Code" Says an androgynous computerized voice. A handful of Tesseracts appear over the briefcase. Tad pokes, rotates, and warps them for 5 solid minutes before the brief case opens. Inside: A harmless looking hologram computer, and a separate storage medium next to it, all held in place by aerogel filling.

"Nothing of harm here." .oO(Physically, at least...)

[Psion]

(OoC: What do you mean by physically at least? Other then that obviously he could do some very nasty electronic warfare stuff if properly motivated. Or am I looking at it wrong and he's just referring to whatever weapon designs stored on the medium?)

The security guard nods approvingly, running a scanner wand over it. Model type and hardware specs for Tad's computer and storage medium appear on a holographic display hovering over the wand.
"Hmmm, obviously this isn't a class N or M contraband and this doesn't appear to have any of the hacker mods we just got a bulletin on last week. Okay, I'm satisified." He replied, putting his wand away. "Welcome to Trader's Edge. Please enjoy your time here and stay out of trouble." He joked, smiling and nodding.

[Brome Teks]

(The latter, he's thinking about the designs stored on the medium.)

"Thank you sir." He closes the case and listens to it seal itself back up. He picks it up by the handle, and makes his way into the station.

[Slate]

"Tsk, tsk... poor fellow." Said Cutsyr as they took the otter to the side. "I hope he isn't in too much trouble." While his demeanor was pleasant, he didn't acknowledge the guards. A friendly nod towards them might be mistaken as a forced action, while avoiding them completely might actually draw unnecessary attention towards him. So, he figured the best action to do would be to act as though they weren't guards and more like an average bystander.

"Arken eprahn, my dear." He greeted as he stepped up to the desk. "My name is Custyr Nat'an. I am here to hopefully gain potential clients. However, business, like water, is always shifting, and so my business might change." His tone was almost too pleasant. "However, before I step through the machine, which given my size would be a bit uncomfortable, might I suggest a personal scan? I have a few... wounds... that will undoubtably set it off."

[Psion]

The scanning machine actually wouldn't be that uncomfortable, being built to dimensions slightly smaller then Cutsyr in order to accomadate the majority of visiting species. But at the subtle hint of cybernetics, the customs agent motioned for the two guards at her side to summon a tech for a personal scan.
"Duly noted, someone will be with you shortly. Meanwhile, do you have any personal weapons of a less... intergral nature to declare?"

[Brome Teks]

Tad watches the poor dragon as he would have to be personally looked over. He sighs, and looks around the station past the security checkpoint.

[Slate]

"I brought no weapons with me. I might regret that should something go wrong, but I'm sure if a situation did arise, these fine gentlemen would be more than capable of handling it." he nodded politely to the guards.

"Now, the scans should reveal the upper middle section of my spine is metallic integrated cybernetics, along with the lower connecting ribs on my right side." Cutsyr explained. He then held up his arm and 'pinky' (he only has 3 fingers and an opposable thumb on each hand, each finger being roughly the same size, and proportioned slightly larger than the average human finger to hand). "This claw, finger, and my Ulna are all integrated cybernetics." He looked at his arm for a moment, and for the first time that anyone could tell since he boarded the shuttle here, his expression turned from joyful and nonchalant to focused and serious, almost icy. However, this only lasted a moment before his demeanor became jolly once again. "I should get this redone. This wound, and these parts, are probably older than your grandparents' grandparents."

[Yorrick]

“Robert Wolfson”
Species: Coyote/Wolf mongrel
Sex: Male
Height: 6’0
Build: Slim
Occupation: Traveler/Bard
Known Abilities: Is a very good singer, with a rich baritone (similar to Stan Rogers) with a slight barking accent. Knows a good deal of boxing and knife fighting, though is not formally trained, nor with any ability beyond adequate. Also a good shot with a rifle. His memory is very good, bordering on the photographic, especially with poetry and songs. He is adept at poetry and singing, and can whip up a few verses with a minute or two of introspection. He is fairly intelligent, but has no formal education and is barely literate.


Equipment: Switchblade, iron-shod boots, iron-shod gloves, ripped nylon jacket, coarse jeans, dirty silken shirts, linen backpack, weathered leather belt.

Description: This… mongrel (there’s really no other word for him) stands at about six feet, with black, bristly fur and golden yellow eyes. His clothes are in poor condition, and he obviously hasn’t bathed in days, but he wears an easy grin all the same, and his eyes sparkle, full of life. His boots and gloves are stitched in cow leather but also have iron plates melded on the knuckles, undersides, and toes.
********************
(OOC) The idea that I have for this character is that he's managed to hitch a ride here after serving a quick and brutal stint on the wrong side of some 3rd-world conflict. He may or may not be wanted; I'd rather not have his past catch up to him here but it may be a factor in the future. You know this setting far better than I, obviously, so I leave it to you to decide the extent of his career and what consequences it may have. That Ok?
**********************
Amongst the crowded platforms an individual stands out. Standing perhaps six feet in height, this mongrel of a coyote, like many refugees, has poor equipment and nothing of immediate value on him. Stained and ripped clothes cover overgrown and unruly clumps of fur, while it is readily apparent that this one has not bathed in weeks. Yet, unlike most he does not seem to care about his predicament, bantering and swapping jokes with people he passes by. Every now and again he laughs, a deep, rich baritone, straight from his sunken belly. If it wasn’t for his poor condition, one would never know that this one was a poor refugee indeed.
Eventually he makes his way over to the checkpoint, his eyes glinting over the large lizard and the pale, furless humans monkeying with their equipment.
“Here, now, officer, make sure you don’t make this dinosaur go extinct!”

[Brome Teks]

Tad looks over to a nearby arrivals board (Presumably like those found in an airport). He locates the Ship his contact was supposed to arrive on.

Starship Parkinson Current Status: Delayed due to mechanical problems. ETA: Unknown.

"...Crap." He sighs. "Good thing I brought my debit card..."

[Psion]

(sorry about that. Let's see if I can get back on the ball)

As Tad watched the status board for incoming ships, a tall and fairly round grizzly bear walked up behind him. "Hello there traveler, care to share a drink?" He smiled cheerfully.
---------
Soon enough, a frumpy young human male appeared from a side corridor carrying a bulky-looking hand scanner. "Just a minute sir." He replied in a nasely voice. "Hmmm, interesting. Nothing that seems particularly dangerous though." He muttered while reading. A few minutes later and the dragon was approved for visiting the station.
---------
As the tech handled Cutsyr, the official at the desk looked back at the canine. She remember rumors of a space pirate of some canine ancestry sneaking aboard under an alias moments before New Portugal fell.
Her expression kept perfectly neutral, she nodded to the poor and underfed traveler. "Name?" She asked simply, privately consulting security records for a possible match. Within seconds she had her answer, there was clearly no relation between this wolf/coyote being and the pirate from before. "Welcome to Trader's Edge, what brings you to our fair station?" She adds, hoping the pause wasn't too unfriendly.

[Brome Teks]

Tad hears the bear and turns to look at him. "...What kinds of drinks have they got around here?"

He grips the briefcase a bit more tightly.

[Yorrick]

The canine turns to the official, holding her in a steady gaze, before breaking into a slight grin. "Robert. Robert Wolfsson." He gestures to his poor clothing. "Just an unfortunate, ma'am, trying to find someplace thats better than before." Hastily, he adds: "I don't have anything in my pack, sadly, and my belt is tightened a bit too much to be hiding anything. I hope your station is as prosperous as I've heard it. You won't be needing anything more from me, would you, ma'am?"

This last question he punctuates with a slight change in tone; one could almost perceive the quivering, helpless sounds of a wretched torn from his beloved homeworld.

Of course, he purposely lays on a bit more feeling than he actually has, this being a trick he learned early in life to get what he needed.

[Brome Teks]

Bump.

Tad looks around at the stores, still standing in front of the grizzly bear, considering whether or not to buy new clothes while he waits for his contact to arrive. If that starship still hasn't left dock, he was gonna be here for a few days, at the least...