[ti]Flashback[/ti]Wayfarer's Passage [Closed]

[Zercon]

A worn ship, an immense vessel...

There was a leap of faith taken this day, a bold action by a young soul, embarking on a one-way shuttle into the upper atmosphere in blind hope that the individual that called to offer aid was true and genuine. A polite voice, a calm demeanor, reassurances and data thrown out to try to stabilize wariness and bring security... Yet, all the support in the world did not erase the fact that it was a leap into a vast unknown, a threat of the shuttle not even being grasped to leave the femme out into the vacant void, or just being shot to pieces. Lucky for her, her gamble was a sure thing, and once she moved beyond the unreachable threshold into open space, the large exploratory ship loomed into view.

The ship was sleek and smooth, arching panels of black and raw metal with a few stripes swooping along a streamlined shape. The structure was unified at first glance, looking not unlike the numerous warships that fled Cybertron in its dying throes, yet upon inspection it would become apparent the vast majority of its form was not for harboring soldiers and personnel, nor weapons to hold guard and point. Instead, it was an engine, a large system meant to carry the craft to deep space exploration without spending a lifetime in transport. While trying to touch the outskirts of the perceived threshold of everything had been its initial function, now it served as fast travel for Autobot soldiers to try to get to whatever outpost was currently called home.

Speed could only do so much however, worn panels of metal dinged and scraped from the many obstacles space had to offer, while black ashen smears from Decepticon weaponry left wounds and scarring across its external facing. The ship could almost be described as decrepit, though most issues were superficial, and it did not seem to impair its function as it arched overhead and blotted the light from the nearest star from hitting the shuttle. With a silent churn that was drowned out in the vacuum, the underside peeled open, a loading dock arm stretching out before roughly clamping onto Petrichor's pod.

The grip was a bit rough, making certain the container would not go anywhere. Metal around her would creak faintly before the shuttle was pulled up and within in a lurching movement.

Vast, the largest room on the ship, the loading bay had once held a variety of spacecrafts, tools to leave the 'hive' and seek what may be upon an unknown world. Alas, they were mostly gone, and those that remained were voided husks that had been shredded and torn apart. Entire sides gored open, internals ripped free to strip whatever part was needed... what was interesting however, was the fact they were not all of the same model, and the reason soon became apparent as the grand arm that had took hold of Petrichor's shuttle, now carried it like the grasp of a claw machine over the security gate from the open bay doors to the graveyard, placing it down with a dull thud that reverberated in the metal enclosure.

The claw released its grip then, yellow lights spiraling in warning before the bay doors sealed shut and the pressurized environment settled, allowing sound to be heard. The mechanical arm snarled as it let go, a hiss that continued as it folded up near the ceiling where additional smaller maneuvering tools were stored.

The Loading Bay was all metal, and like the exterior had seen better days. Grime and dust, stains and smears... everything looked like it was neglected for eons, burrs and blast marks shot across some surfaces, with a metal door on the far side that undoubtedly led to the rest of the interior. Scratches and rips teared at its surface, with a few pocket holes attempting to bore through from gunfire that never breached. Beside it was a camera that watched. Yellowed lighting shone in the area, a flickered haze in points that created twitching shadows. The dirt and neglect may be unpleasant, yet it did map out a path. Smudges of footfalls, streaks and scuffs from large and small individual's alike... they led before that door before a larger swath showed they may have paced or moved around.

A crackled voice spoke over the loudspeaker.

"Greetings Petrichor! Do not let appearances cause alarm."

Happy tones, chipper and polite.

"My name is Kamal as you are aware, and I am just going to need you to step out of your craft, approach the camera, and send your identification codes once more in person if you do not mind. Make sure you didn't have someone else send them on your behalf... you know how it is."

The individual seemed to mutter a bit after his slight ramble, before continuing in a happy tone that wasn't fitting his following words.

"If you are fraudulent, it would be far easier to open the bay doors and jettison you now rather than later."

[Petrichor]

The trip into orbit had been brief, but the entire time Petrichor had spent it trying to steady her panicked breaths and with her optics screwed tightly shut. She really disliked space, she’d come to discover. She liked her peds firmly planted on the ground, thank you very much! Even as a climber, when she would dangle in mid-air, she was still connected to solid ground in some way or other. Her whole frame was locked up until the very point when she assumed the docking arm clamped down around the sad, practically scrapped shuttle she had…commandeered. It was rusted and shuddered with every little trajectory adjustment, but she had been lucky to have even found it. The scariest part had been leaving atmosphere. Petra had sworn to Primus that she was already dead, just waiting for the vibrating deathtrap to explode or the engines to cut out or for her to be shot out of the sky and send her plummeting back to Cybertron’s dark surface – just another corpse to add the already countless. There wouldn’t have even been a corpse if that had happened.

But it didn’t happen.

By the powers that be, she had not only made it into orbit, but she had been retrieved by her savior comms-caller and his space-worthy craft. The connection between the ships jolted the entirety of the small cockpit she was crammed into and she gasped, a small whimper managing to escape past her tight lips. Every joint and piston ached under the strain of the lock she was putting on them. Then a disorienting swooping motion accompanied by several very concerning and ominous creaks of brittle outer hull as the arm reeled her into the gut of the larger ship, seeming to swallow her up into its dark maw of a loading bay. A final, spark-stopping jolt and drop and then everything was still.

Petrichor continued to hold her breath, waiting for another tremor, groan of metal, anything; but there was nothing. Only stillness and quiet. Her frame slowly – agonizingly slowly – eased from its taught position and she allowed herself to relax enough to start breathing again.

"Greetings Petrichor! Do not let appearances cause alarm."

Her whole frame jumped at the loud, echoing, disembodied voice and a clang from outside the tiny shuttle could be heard as her head made contact with the interior of the cockpit roof.

Owww… Gingerly, she raised a servo to rub her poor helm where she could have sworn she felt a dent. She in-fact, had not, but it certainly hurt enough to seem so. ‘Appearances.’ Please. She’d had her eyes closed that entire time. This Kamal guy may have saved her, but he sounded way too cheerful for Petra’s current mental state.

“ – need you to step out of your craft – “

Yeah. Like that was going to happen any time soon. Petrichor was still recovering from what she was pretty sure was the closest thing to a spark attack a bot could have without actually experiencing the real thing. Even if it was to ensure that she was who she said she was and not some Decepticon fragger, waiting a few moments while she composed herself wasn’t going to kill him.

"If you are fraudulent, it would be far easier to open the bay doors and jettison you now rather than later."

Welp. So much for dignity.

Petrichor scrambled to the rear of the shuttle as quickly as she could in such a tiny space and fumbled for the release lever that would lower the entry platform. Finding it, she gave it a yank.

…Only for nothing to happen.

Confused, she righted it and then tried again. Still nothing. Again and again and still the platform wouldn’t budge.

Oh no. No. No. NononoNO! This is not happening. I’m gonna get blasted back into the cold vacuum of space in a rust bucket by my one chance of living!

Petrichor’s breaths started coming in rapid and panicked heaves again, her frame crumpling underneath the stress of the past several cycles as it finally culminated under this one stupid tipping point. If she had been of right mind, she would have been able to shrug such a trivial thing off and commed Kamal, but her processor was too busy firing away all the horrible things that were going to happen to her as she drifted aimlessly in the ceaseless void forever until her system shutdown permanently from lack of fuel. ALONE. 

"Please..." she whimpered to the darkness behind her closed optics. "I can't...Not again..."

No. She'd managed to avoid it on Cybertron, but she couldn't go through the isolation again. She’d kill herself before she'd suffer through that slow and agonizing death. Little did Petra know that while her personal comms may not have been opened to Kamal, her shuttle's comms had been open to him since she fired the accursed thing up. She had thought it had been busted since it showed no indication of sending or receiving a signal after she had input his frequency into the ship's console and had simply left it as it was at that point. Every little noise, squeak, groan and pathetic whimper had been transmitted directly to his communications system.

[Zercon]

No words readily followed Petrichor's own, her pleas seemingly falling into the void. The ghost ship's hanger simply creaked and faintly groaned, a clunk of metal being dislodged from her shuttle being places down sounding out nearby, the scrap pile settling a bit. It made it almost seem as if she were already abandoned despite her soft pleas, words falling through the communications line on an empty channel. This pause lasted a good moment or three, taking into account how she was acting, evaluating, figuring out if it was a ruse or if she was truly under duress... Eventually, Kamal's voice crackled back active through the dirty speakers that were intermittently placed about the Hanger.

"Calm down, you have nothing to fear should you be a true Autobot."

Decisive, a cheery voice.

"Are you trapped in there?"

A hiss of hydraulics was then heard again, the noise of the large mechanical arm seemingly activating anew. With the pressurized setting settling, it sounded so much louder, a creaking groan with a few snarled spats of air pushing out. However, this was not the only sound of movement, for a lesser grind of systems formed as another tool extended down into the open area around the other femme's pod. The more modest clamp used for more delicate actions ((though was still rather notable in size given its industrial purpose)), would place down onto the top of the pod with a dull clunk, holding it steady so that it would not roll or jostle in a tipsy turvy spin if she did swing a door open.

He was ready to tear it open like a soda can if push came to shove.

Her pod was worthless to him.

"If you are, I can rectify that for you."

[Petrichor]

Petrichor was still struggling with her breathing – fighting her own frame against the darkness that threatened to overtake her processor in a forced shutdown. Her neural net was firing faster than it was designed for and her systems were overheating and close to shorting themselves out because of it. Kamal’s voice cut through her overload, and she mentally flailed to grasp onto it. Focusing with all her might on that ridiculously bright and cheerful voice instead of every fleeting, panicked thought.

Focus. Breathe. You’re still ok. You’re not alone. Kamal is still here. You haven’t been jettisoned into space yet, so FOCUS. Breathe in – breathe out. Calm down. In – and out. That’s it, Petra. You’re cool. You’re fine. Breathe. Slower. Bring those systems back to normal levels. Intake – exvent.

She opened her optics, resetting them a couple of times before things came back into focus. The dim interior of the personal shuttle greeting her. Her internal fans had kicked on and their soft whirring filled the space, stirring the otherwise stagnant air. Then Kamal’s question: “Are you trapped in there?” A hiccup and her processor skipped a few lines of code before catching up with the query again. ‘Was she trapped?’ A couple of nanokliks passed before Petrichor was able to form an adequate response with her overloaded processor.

“I – Yes. The release le-ever – ” she hiccupped again, losing her train of thought.

She needn’t have thought further though because no sooner had she said the words that a muted clamp of heavy metal on metal sounded above her head, making her jump yet again – although this time she managed to bust her elbow instead of her head in the limited space. The small burst of pain seemed to shock her system enough into functioning a little more smoothly because she cried out, cursing perfectly.

"OW! Son of a glitch – stop doing that!" 

[Zercon]

The mechanical arms that weren't holding onto the pod on the ceiling snarled a bit as they tucked higher up in their mountings.

"Ow? I apologize if I caused pain."

Kamal wasn't entirely sure what he had done to incur such a response. From his perspective on the cameras he had merely grabbed onto the pod so that it wouldn’t move or roll around on the femme in any way to disrupt whatever she was trying to do within. If it caused her pain, then he was a bit wary on what he could do next to actually help her out without causing possible large injuries he wasn’t equipped to handle. He wondered if the angle on his screen was just right where he missed something, perhaps the claw crushing a piece of shrapnel into the structure itself at her... This was problematic, and troubling if it were the case.

"I cannot assist with an internal lever, and an external one is questionable as well. My supporting capabilities are rather... limited."

Despite the roughness of the speakers and faint underlying crackle, Kamal spoke with a sort of meekness to his tone of voice.

"I can forcibly rip the pod door off, or break out the glass, but that is extent of my assistance."

If she was fine with this? Ok. If not? He would absolutely hate to sit back and watch her struggle for who knows how long. If push came to shove he would have to take matters into his own hands, try to rip apart the metal cage to free her even if it risked injuring her in the process. It would be better to walk away with dents and damage than to slowly starve to death. Kamal didn't wish to witness that, he refused. If it did come down to such a life or death choice, and his option to try to rip her free ended up slaying her?... well. He didn't want to think that way, but it was better for her demise to be fast and abrupt rather than a drawn-out process.

"Let me know what you want."

Kamal would go silent then, the surrounding hanger's creaks and stillness suffocating the environment.

[Petrichor]

“I apologize if I caused pain.”

“What? No, you didn’t; I just hit my – ”

Wait. He could hear her. How was that possible? She didn’t think she had opened a line to him. Petra ran a weak and stuttering diagnostic on her comms and no, she had not opened a link to Kamal. But then how...?

The shuttle’s comms. Stars above, he’s heard everything. A cold wash of horrified embarrassment came over her, overriding her previous panic with a new kind before Kamal’s voice crackled over the speakers once more, interrupting her thoughts.

He couldn’t help with the door release itself. He’d have to pry her out. Petrichor gave a shudder. She’d been in her fair share of tight spots and claustrophobic conditions – they didn’t necessarily bother her, but this was different. It was the idea of being stuck inside this already tiny, tin can while heavy equipment forced its way through the hull with the potential of crushing her with the empty void of space only a few metal panels away was the problem, but her options were extremely limited. Actually, she didn’t really have any options, other than go through with this or stay where she was until she offlined. She took a few ragged intakes of the stale air to try and calm her nerves before nodding.

Idiot. You have to speak. He can’t see you.

Processor still slow on the uptake, she opened her mouth to speak but glitched. She winced and reset her vocals before starting again.

“The door won’t open. You-you’ll have to pry it loose.” Her voice was meek and quiet; unsure and scared. She hated the sound of it. A few beats passed before she quickly added, “b-but give me a warning when you’re about start? I don’t want to hit myself again.” The laugh she gave out at the jab towards herself was far from amused; if anything, it sounded almost painful. She was not having a very good day. Albeit, she wasn’t stuck on Cybertron alone, so that was something. She tried to focus on that.

[Zercon]

The reassurance it was not HIS fault was good, Kamal didn’t want to have been responsible, and frankly he did not understand how it had been his error to begin with. Now that it was confirmed to not be the case, and was due to her own actions within the pod, the unseen mech relaxed and readily moved on to figuring out the next steps. Or more, he waited patiently to allow the newest passenger time to figure out what she was wanting to do. It was while she sat in momentary silence that he turned his attention aside, focusing on the ship itself, starting to plot his already well used course back to Earth while trying to keep radio signals broad open to listen for others that may jump on along the way.

She then spoke.

"Alrighty then, I will give a play by play."

Compliant, ready to abide her request.

"I am moving the pod to get a better angle."

A small pause, a momentary gift for her to prepare, before the large claw that held onto her ship would activate and turn the shuttle more onto its backside. This resulted in the front hatch and doorway being lifted into the air further, a gritty crackle as the entire pod was angled more towards the direction of the nearest camera.

"A smaller tool is going to crush in on the seam."

The mechanical arms, they were meant to stabilize and hold ships off the ground so that they could be pulled in, repaired, and held up so the underside could be worked on. There were a couple larger tools available such as a more industrial welder for shuttle metals, but they were not applicable to actually help here without possibly burning her through the tiny pod since he was not skilled with them. As such, one of the smaller arms crooked down, placing the blunt end of the clamp along the top seam. A hiss of hydraulics growled, before it started to compress down against the metal, buckling in the outside edge. He moved with care to not punch in too far, trying to get juuusssst enough of a ledge behind the door frame itself so he could try to grab it firmly.

[Petrichor]

Even with his warning and blessed few seconds to situate herself, Petrichor was not at all ready when Kamal began to rotate the ship. Sure, she had wedged herself into a corner away from where he’d be working, but the movement as everything pivoted around her was still disorienting and alarming. She gritted her denta against the rising need to panic again, bracing her arms and legs hard against the frame of the ship around her to keep herself in place and not go tumbling around the cramped cabin. Fate finally seemed to ease up and let her catch a break because the direction Kamal rotated the ship had her more or less laying on her back rather than hanging in the air, half-way upside down.

And then the groaning of metal.

Petrichor watched with wide optics as the hull a little to her left and above her began to buckle inwards. It was like being stuck inside a compactor just waiting to be crushed.

“Oh frag me.”

She took it back. This was horrifying. Maybe starving to death wouldn’t be so bad… But she kept her mouth shut, determined now that they had already started. She was going to get out, even if it was the last thing she did, although she sincerely hoped that would not be the case.

It was slow going and seconds stretched into minutes as Kamal did his best to as-gently-as-he-could pry open the door panel without completely obliterating the tiny shuttle and herself with it. She wanted to ask how it was going, but didn’t dare interrupt him during such a delicate process. Her focus drifted before focusing on something strange. Beneath all the other sounds that had become normal, Petra could have sworn she heard a light hissing. Her brows scrunched in confusion and she sat forward – having since adjusted her position after the whole ship was rotated. What was that?

“Hang on, I think I hear something,” she called out, straining her audials to try and pick it up.

Creeping forward on hands and knees, she followed the direction of the sound. Sure enough, there was definitely a hissing coming from where the hull was dented in.

“I think…I think you’ve breached the door…and the atmosphere in here is venting out! Kamal, you did it! You have the door!”

To say Petra was ecstatic was an understatement, but her emotions were already so all over the place today, she wouldn’t be surprised if she had already shutdown and this was all a crazy fever dream. Even so, no more would she be at risk of being crushed! All Kamal had to do now was pull outwards; at least, she was pretty sure. She desperately hoped that was all that was needed to be done.

[Zercon]

The fearful 'oh frag me' was not directly addressed, not really hearing it as a 'stop!' or 'hold on!' or other request to cease all movement. As such, Kamal would continue his task, being sure to move with care since it seemed the inhabitant wasn't particularly hardened through the years to not fear such a procedure from an ally. Whatever the case, when she yelled in excitement that the pod was breached, the crackled voice called out through the loading bay's speakers.

"That is great to hear! I will proceed forward then. The door is going to start to be pried away."

The clamp that had broken the seal on the ship started to compress and grip then, causing a groaning and crackled sound as the edge of metal gave way under the stronger force. It was while it compressed the dulled gray and scratched appendage would finally visibly pierce the door, its blunted end tearing ever so slightly into the inner chamber where it could be viewed at last. It hardly went far far within however, there was no threat of pinching onto the femme, though it did permit a dappling of yellow light to peek around it at her. Hazy, flickering some as figures or a shape moved before the source of the illumination... whatever the case, movement continued.

Hinges and locks cried in anguish, one of the joints becoming more and more visible as its mounting was sheered from the inner recess. Wires and sensors webbed between the fissures, before succumbing to the pressure and snapping with tiny pops. More and more the outer world would start to be seen, before the clamp disengaged, despite the opening not being large enough yet. At most, Petrichor would be able to snake her arm out, wave a bit... basically nothing of value, though it was quickly apparent Kamal was not done.

"Coming back for a new grip."

Just after this was said, the clamp would return, its shape trembling some as it tried to move with delicate motions. It wavered, unsure, before gently pushing one prong within the tear, hooking under enough to get a far larger 'bite' onto the door. The compressing force was slow, giving Petrichor ample time to yell she was in the way, before it fully crunched into the metal and began to pull once more. With a bit more effort, and a few more wrenching groans of metal, the door gave way with a final bang, the mechanical arm lurching back as the pod door was nestled in its grip.

A quick whir, and the arm and door lifted.

"Angling down."

Whether the femme waited for the larger limb to tilt the pod back horizontal, or if she would choose to launch out like a jack-in-the-box, was unknown. Kamal would try to level things out for a comfortable exit so she could avoid the jagged metal edges however, wanting to make it as seamless of an escape as he could so she wouldn't fall and hurt herself. The cameras above would click slightly as they moved to new angles, looking at the opening to get their first real view of the unknown Autobot.

[Petrichor]

The shrieking and groaning of metal and equipment amplified as soon as the rend in the hull was opened up more. Petrichor could see the watery-yellow light of the loading bay filter in through the hole Kamal had made and was gradually widening; the clamp readjusting and pulling the door until it finally gave way.

Thank the Primes. I’m OUT! I can check space travel off the bucket list and never touch it again after all of this is over if I can help it. NOPE. Peds on solid ground for this femme, thank you very much!

Scrambling for the opening, Petrichor grabbed the edges – ignoring their biting sharpness because frag it, she was getting out of this scrap-for-parts pod! – and pulled herself up, swinging her legs out and over the smooth, rounded outer hull. Her limbs felt weak, but she pushed forward; stumbling on her landing after sliding down and jumping off the small spacecraft. For a moment she just stayed there on her hands and knees on the dusty floor, frame trembling as she sucked in air, cycling out the old air still in her system. She was free. She wasn’t dead, she wasn’t adrift in space, and she wasn’t alone – which reminded her…

Petrichor raised her head to look around, but didn’t see anyone present. She could see the arm with the clamp off to the side; the door still clutched in its metal jaws, but no one at any control panels. The loading bay was empty of any kind of spark except that of her own. Kamal wasn’t there.

But then how – ?

Quiet clicking above her had Petra turning her light blue optics upwards to find several camera lenses winking at her from several points on the ceiling.

Of course. He had done it all remotely.

A small and tired – but honest – smile graced her face then.

“Not exactly Decepticon material, eh?” Her head dropped back down, taking a few more vents to ground herself. “Thanks for the lift…and getting me out.”

The immense amount of anxiety and fear she had felt before was swept away, leaving her feeling light headed with relief, gratitude, and no small amount of exhaustion. Slowly, Petra got her peds under her and stood, using the side of the pod for balance. A slight twinge of pain in her hands captured her attention and she glanced down. Her palms were scratched from where she had grasped the jagged edges of the hull when exiting. They weren’t hardly more than a cosmetic injury – nothing to be concerned about. She’d certainly had worse. It could be taken care of later. Right then what she really wanted was to find a place to curl up and have a nice, long-overdue recharge – after a proper greeting with her twice savior of course.

Looking to the cameras once more, she wearily rattled off her identification codes, rank and name again as per standard protocol.

“Alright, Kamal. Where do you want me? I can wait here for you to come get me or I can meet you wherever, but you’ll have to guide me in that case.”

Petrichor hoped she wouldn’t have far to walk regardless. Stars above, how could she be so tired just from sitting inside a rust bucket? The several days and sleepless nights of avoiding being detected by cons while trying to find said rust bucket probably didn’t help…

“Oh! Also – I’ve got some energon for you stashed in the pod still, so don’t jettison it yet. Just…don’t ask me climb back in there. At least, not for a couple cycles…please.”

[Zercon]

Dingy cameras whirred slightly as they focused on the new arrival, no further verbiage passed in the following moments. He was waiting patiently for her to proceed and give him her identification codes for one more careful confirmation, while the hanger doors were primed and ready if she were fraudulent. A flip of the switch... a snarl of aged ill-maintained mechanics... and she would be instantly ejected out into the abyss unless she had some serious tools or a strong enough grip on a railing to keep rooted down and in place. Then it would be an agonizing waiting game, praying she starved to death before she could claw her way through the door to the main area. Alas, this thankfully was not needed, and electricity to those systems were turned off to conserve power once things were confirmed A-OK.

"Welcome Petrichor! I sadly will not be joining you there, but you are more than welcome to go where you please."

A pause.

"Within reason."

Wary. There were some points of the ship he didn't let individuals, but that needn't get delved into further.

"I can guide you to temporary accommodations, or you may join me in the Control Room."

Kamal wanted to wager that the seemingly young femme would be eager to hustle her way to rest, the stress and strain of being free range in space, and being trapped in a pod, a good motivator. Energy and drive whittled down sharply beneath poor experiences... yet he didn't know. Perhaps she wished for a distraction of some kind, the silence of a room a haunting element after an unpleasant adventure. He didn't TRULY mind one way or another. Company was nice but the trip to Earth was not an overnight adventure.

At the mention of Energon, one of the cameras flicked back over, its focus going from Petrichor to the pod once again.

"I will need you to retrieve it eventually, as well as drain any fuel you can from the shuttle, but that can certainly wait for another time."

[Petrichor]

She could grab the energon for him later. Perfect. And holy Primus, ‘accommodations’ - as in an actual place to stay. Any flat space where she could fully stretch out and recharge without having to worry about waking at a moment’s notice at this point sounded beyond heavenly. But...shouldn’t she check-in with Kamal personally first; make sure he himself was the real deal and not some scammer who lured her up here to then murder her in her recharge?

If he wanted you dead, he would have just left you to rot on Cybertron, or jettisoned you back into space or crushed you instead of carefully busting you out of a piece of scrap shuttle.

Or he could hand you over to the Cons.

Petra warred with herself for a moment on what to do. Stars above she was just so tired and thinking about anything logically was becoming more and more difficult. A part of her spoke up a little louder than the others though.

He saved your life.

That seemed as good a reason as any to trust Kamal enough to try and get some recharge. Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him so soon after more or less having a processor breakdown in front of him. Not to mention she’d make for a terrible conversationalist with how fried she currently felt.

“I can certainly do that for you. But for now, a place to rest sounds wonderful, thank you.”

Even her voice sounded tired. Petra didn’t think she’d ever been this worn out. Wait, no...Maybe? There had been that one time… No, that still wasn’t as tired as she was now.

“I’d be more than happy to visit you on the control deck once I’ve uh...recovered my wits and stuff ahaha…”

The last bit was sheepish and a poor attempt at concealing her embarrassment towards her previous reaction while stuck in the shuttle. She headed towards the door that she assumed would lead her out of the hangar, speaking up.

“And you don’t have to worry about me snooping around where I’m not supposed to be. Just say the word if I step out of bounds at any point - it being your ship and all. This is your ship, right?”

Her gaze flicked up towards one of the cameras.