ID? What is ID? }{ Open!

[Isi Galilahi]

The sun was finally setting and Isi was no closer to a job than the day before. Or the day before that... The week before that... The month before that. It was with much frustration and a tiny sliver of determination that she pushed open the door to O'Hanrahan's Pub. A slew of eyes roamed over her, some looking very quizzical. Spring green eyes nervously danced over the pubs patriots. So many unknown people gathered in one place. She hated crowds... She hated them so very much, but Isi was getting very tired of the empty quiet of her rented room. If she didn't find work soon she'd have to slum it on the streets somewhere.

Or return home.

The thought sent a quick shiver up her spine, and the 23 year old slowly moved towards the bar. She didn't want to imagine the disappointment on her fathers face. Her mother would happily say I told you so... but her father would always feel ashamed. So she thought, at least.

Everything was very odd here. Isi had been to one or two bars back home, but they weren't so modern. Here everything seemed to gleam to her. She stared aimlessly at the many different side arms that hung on the hips of customers. Her hands clenched and unclenched habitually. She wanted to play with them, peer into their workings and discover their secrets. Taking apart weaponry was always so fascinating.

But she refrained... for now.

Isi strolled past large men, muttering under their breath. She lightly tugged on one of the braids that fell over her shoulder, tied with a strip of leather. Cinnamon colored fingers traced the lines of the polished wood, noting each ding with the pressing of her index finger. So many had come to this place, many more would follow. She looked up, turning those vivid green eyes onto the bartender.

Stern eyes looked her over, a look of doubt crossing his hard features. Her head titled, curiously staring at him as if trying to understand his discomfort. Finally it dawned on her. At 4'10 she was often mistaken for a teenager, no older than 18. A soft smile tugged at her lips and she nodded.

"I have seen 23 Beaver Moons." She said with a nod, as if he would understand her completely. Instead he asked her for ID.

Bewilderment seeped into her eyes as she peered up at him in confusion. "ID? What is ID?"

Living off the land with a people that shied away from civilization she still hadn't acquired all the necessary "paperwork" that proved she existed. The smugglers she'd been flying with had never mentioned it, always assuming she was documented like most people. A frown crossed her small face and she looked around the pub. Why did these people get their drinks with no hesitation? There was something here that she was missing. She watched the people like a cautious deer, trying to understand all that surrounded her. From person to person her eyes wandered until they caught sight of the most lovely firearm. The glowing sheen called to her in the dim pub. And before the bartender had been able to call over security she vanished into the crowd; as if she'd never existed.

Isi slipped through the crowd, a few of the knives she wore clinking against each other. It heralded her arrival, as if she wore bells on the toes of her shoes, yet even so the gun holder hadn't been fast enough. Her dexterous little fingers snatched the pistol from its holster with practiced speed. She did not run, seeing as she wasn't trying to steal it. Instead she sat at the table, her hands running over the smooth exterior as her eyes studied its workmanship. She batted away the hand that moved to snake it from her grasp, quickly pulling it apart.

In one quick rush Isi's breath left her. Her lungs tightened as she stared down at the pieces. It was well taken care of, and it made it that much easier for her to study. Her soft cinnamon colored fingers traced each little puzzle piece before reassembling it in slow, leisurely movements. It wasn't an engine, there was no soft hum to ease her confused soul, but it was still lovely to understand it.

[Jonathan Chriss]

It had been a long time since Jon had stepped foot by choice on one of the core planets of the Alliance. This wasn’t one of the more swanky ones, but it was bad enough. He was sick of how the Alliance acted like they were doing people so good, but he couldn’t get all that into his head today. He was here for two reasons. He had decided to take a job on a ship, and get a drink. He decided getting a drink was a better priority. He liked working part of a crew, and he couldn’t handle being a mercenary anymore. At the very least he was sick of being a secret murderer of ex-Alliance soldiers. He was a better man than that.

He had been sitting at a table for awhile spending what little amount of money he had on him. He wasn’t quite sure what he was even drinking anymore. He was more than a little buzzed, but he wouldn’t admit that. He surveyed the area at all the trash filtering in and out of the bar. He himself was dressed nicer than normal with a white shirt with the sleeves pulled up just under his elbows, black suspenders, brown pants, and a pair of black military boots. He had a pair of pistols at each side of his hip, a black bowler hat, and fingerless gloves.

He grabbed the nasty glass, and took a swig of the piss they called liquor here. Granted he was used to stronger drinks out on the rim. Somehow the core planets always seem to have weaker drinks for some reason, but perhaps civilized people couldn’t handle their liquor. He took notice a small framed girl walked into the bar. She clearly stood out in this situation. She had an awful lot of knives clicking against each other. She was either very brave or stupid. She was pretty much inviting trouble. She would either be raped, robbed, murdered, or all.

For advanced as these planets were suppose to be the people tended to be overly touchy when it came to things they weren’t familiar with. She clearly had no idea she was practically inviting a fight by allowing the noise of her weapons to clink. Jonathan had seen people like her before, she was one of the few people who kept away from civilization on whatever planet they inhabited. They kept away from towns or mayors and their squabbles over territory. They were often seen as slaves as they weren’t registered, and people who don’t exist make the best slaves.

She made her way over to where he was sitting, and with great speed drew his gun out from his holster. She sat next to him setting the gun down. He reached over to take his gun back as she denied it from him. She then began to take it apart right on the table. “First ya steal mah gun, then ya pull it apart. If I weren’t such a nice guy I would have shot you in the belly already.”

He said knowing his other pistol was on his other hip. He could have easily and silently removed it from his holster and popped one in her without her ever even seeing it. ”The elders of your people clearly didn’t teach ya respect.” He looked over at his gun pretty impressed at her skills however. He was never one to take it apart fast, but that was probably one of the fastest breakdowns he had ever seen.

“Ain’t gonna lie though…that was impressive.” He said in an attempt not to completely shun her away. She clearly had an affection for working with equipment. She had a skill with that gun he didn’t even have. ”How long ya been on the core planets little bird.”

[Isi Galilahi]

Isi's cinnamon fingers slid across the gun in a soft caress. Her spring green eyes didn't meet the strangers for a moment. She was to focused on the guns mechanics. But he spoke of her elders, and her father was of that group. A fire flickered in her small eyes as she shot up to meet his gaze. Isi wasn't much for anger, unless her father was concerned. "Father is elder. Taught much respect. Also taught to follow hearts call." She said, sounding almost prissy. It was clear that she cared deeply about her father. She missed him, but she knew she could not return home empty handed. Her mother would never let her live it down.

The wildfire died down as he spoke of the gun, and a shy smile tugged on her plump lips. "Wa do." She said with the slight incline of her head. Lightly the young woman slid the gun back across the table to him. "Hammer pin is bending, should replace." She cooed softly, looking around the bar with mild interest. For now her need to snatch things up and take them apart was sated. Besides none of them had an engine around their waste, so she wasn't compelled by the soft thrum of an engine. There was no audible calling, for now.

She glanced at him as he called her little bird. A soft pink crept up her face and she looked at the table. "Fawn." She muttered quietly, moreso to herself. Her father had named her Isi for dear, but they had always called her little Fawn as she grew into age. Even the few townspeople that were close to her band of people. She wiped the memories away for a moment, dwelling on how homesick she was wasn't going to get her anywhere on this planet. Finally she realized he had asked her a question. For a moment she pondered, trying to remember the word these people used. Isi tugged on one of her braids, her face drawn into confusion. She couldn't remember the word.

"One new moon." She finally said, shrugging her shoulders. She didn't know if he'd know what she meant, most of these pale faced people didn't. But it was worth a shot. "Looking for ship to work. Have skill with machines. But ship chiefs laugh at me. Say savages can't work machines." She said softly, looking up at the ceiling quietly. She didn't let it bother her that they called her a savage. Most of them hadn't been to her backwater planet. Besides, she knew what real savagery was.

And she was no Reaver.

However at one point she had wanted to show them just how savage she could be. But Isi had refrained from drawing a knife and showing him his insides, she wasn't a murderer. She didn't kill for fun. But sometimes these people were infuriating.

"Is strange place." She whispered to herself. "No life surrounding. Lights so bright can not see stars." She was talking to herself, a habit she had gained while working with the smugglers. They had kept her locked away, most of the time, in the engine room. Sure she had her own "dorm" room, but both were so empty she had to talk to herself to keep her sane. Once they had let her come aboard the bridge, let her sit behind their pilot. She had marveled at the black, with its endless sea of glittering stars. It had been beautiful, and terrifying.