Fruit of the Poisonous Vine

[Amos Iakona]

Amos' eyes narrowed, but he kept his focus squarely on the planet ahead. "You're a very reassuring person, you know that?" he grunted.

Any further comment on the matter was stampeded aside by the appearence of the plateau, and his concentration on manipulating the craft in a groundwards direction at a controlled pace. Landings had never been his strong suit - they were arguably the most difficult part of flying, which was why Amos tried to avoid them so frequently - and with the thick Skakoan clouds weighing down the ship and making every movement that little bit more exaggerated, in was sure to make for an interesting exercise.

He drew in a slow, deep breath through his nose; held it in place for a moment before heaving it out as a gentle sigh. A wave of calm washed over him as he exhaled: not some Jedi meditation technique, or anything so profound; merely a simple infusion of oxygen to his brain, designed to sharpen his concentration, or something along those lines. At least, that is the explanation his father had provided while teaching him to shoot a rifle as a boy. He remembered those times with a hint of a smile, and realised it was the first time he could recall that thoughts of his father had come without any negative side-effects. Apparently, more than just literal demons had been slain on Ord Ithil.

The Queen wavered as Amos brought her gently towards the deck, aiming carefully within the clearing that was scarcely large enough for the ship, bow to stern. Her port skids hit the ground before the bow and starboard, a judder migrating though the deck plates as they dropped an unexpected foot or so while the craft levelled itself. Amos grimaced, but as the intertial compensators smoothed off the last of the resitual vibrations, the craft came to a comfortable rest. With more than a little relief and satisfaction, Amos slapped a hand into the repulsorlift controls, killing power to them completely before commencing the somewhat lengthier process of shutting down the sublight drives and the navicomputer, shunting every last amp of excess power into reinforcing their precious shields.

Amos hesitated, peering out through the viewport with a wrinkled nose. "Not meaning to sound cliché," he muttered, addressing his new mentor, "But are we nearly there yet?"

[Tionne Thanewulf]

A dampened creak was to be heard, with the hull gradually pushed inwards by the weight of the thick Skakoan atmosphere. The sound was unpleasant and sinister and reminded Tionne no time should be wasted. Her eyes rolled to gaze at the ceiling when Amos shut the power down; she unbuckled herself and rose from her seat once she made sure the ship had indeed touched solid ground.

''We have about fifteen standard minutes before both me and you and this flying tincan are turned into a pancake.'' the redhead murmured as she slid past her student down the cramped corridor and down into the cargo area where two environmental suits waited ready. Her jacket was tossed aside when she started to unbuckle her belt, slipping her trousers off to remain in plain white underwear.

''I'd suggest you get rid of any excess clothes if you do not wish to cook alive in your skin. It's hotter than hell out there, like a very murky spa.'' the Knight commented briefly, finding nothing embarrassing in parading around in her underwear. Knowing herself, there would be much more awkward situations than this. The sooner Amos adapted and grew comfortable around her, the better. Besides she had nothing the tall man did not see before.

Once she managed to wiggle into the suit and locked herself in with a snap-hiss of the pressurizers, her attention turned to her student. He seemed to be struggling with his suit; these were apparently not made for oversized giants like himself.
''Here, lemme help...'' she offered, approaching to aid him in an almost maternal way.