2018-03-22: Origin Stories

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  • Log: Origin Stories
  • Cast: Cassidy Cain, Morgan Newkirk
  • Where: Somewhere in the forests of Meribus, Lunar
  • Date: March 22nd, 2018
  • Summary: Takes place immediately after The Moon Is Made of Green Vegetables. While gathering firewood for their group's campsite, Morgan manages to confirm a few things that Cassidy already suspects, which leaves him poking into the thorns and brambles of the conwoman's past...and somehow survives it. It ends in a promise, of sorts.


 <Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain  has posed.

The flight from the port city of Meribia ends with their party deep in the surrounding woods, where they decide to recuperate from their injuries and recover from the shock of what the bloody hell just happened. It does leave them to suffer through the time-old tradition of camping outside while they assess their options and gather what they need to survive in the brave new world in which they have found themselves. For Morgan and Cassidy, their circumstances leave them to do something they haven't done in quite some time, infinitely preferring pockets of civilization to the bare swathes of desert wasteland Filgaia is so full of:

Gather firewood.

Leaving Molly, Jude and Gwen around the vicinity of Gulliver and his wagon, the two pick their way through the brush and verdant flora, the growing darkness heralded by the sounds of nocturnal wildlife roused by unfamiliar bootheels and scents of those who come from another world...

...hopefully there aren't any bears.

That is the last thing they need.

"Ach, well. Welcome tae the bloody moon," Cassidy grouses, tucking her bundle of twigs against her hip. "Did I tell you that Noah told me about this place?"

Fishing out her cardboard pack of smoke, she stares forlornly at the five sticks she has left. Pearly teeth drag one out by the filter, a hand fishing for her lighter. A few flicks of the flint, her pale features are suddenly illuminated by fire and softened by shadows, cheeks hollowing out to stoke a cherry-red ember to linger at the very end.

"Seriously, though, when's the last time you've seen this much green?"

  <Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.

There are always bears. If they aren't where you can see them its because they were lying in wait for you to let your guard down. Its one of the many reasons Morgan stuck to civilisation.

Sudden Bears.

"You know. If I knew all I had to do to get off that bloody rock is blow something up I would have tried that a long time ago." The tall beastman grumbling right along with Cassidy. "What do you mean no booze? No mind-alter--what in the hells do they do for fun?! You've named basicly every good vice beyond just the occasional bar brawl."

He glowers at a tree in front of them. Arms crossed over his chest. "Let me guess no violence either." A longer pause. "Time to persue a long and lucruitive career as a rum-runner I guess. You know they have to have rum-runners. Don't suppose you know anything about making making moonshine do ya?"

He turns half-round to smirk towards her one ear twitching.

Looking out for bears.

"Firey rebellion does seem more your style though." A pause again before he looks back towards the forest and he takes a deep breath of the sounds and sights and smells around him.

There is a chuckle. A smirk. "Its been a long time. Long enough that its hard to remember."

  <Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain  has posed.

If I knew all I had to do to get off that bloody rock is blow something up I would have tried that a long time ago.

"This is nae exactly discouraging me from the conclusion that explosions really do solve everyone's god damn problems," Cassidy replies, though there's a humored smirk tilted Morgan's way at that. "Dinnae ken you were trying all that hard tae get off Filgaia, though. So what does that mean, that you wanted tae get here all along? Dinnae think a place that's outlawed booze would be your kind of place, Morgan. Plus all the..." She gestures faintly to the side. "Moon Cancer."

What she calls Malevolence.

"Apparently this is where it all comes from, the shite that's spreading slowly in Filgaia like some kind of ill-fit pestilence."

No violence either? There's a laugh. "Well, between you and me, I dinnae think there's a place in the cosmos that actually has that rule up. All for the best, can you imagine staying in a moon, star or planet where you cannae let off that kind of steam? Those places dinnae exist, probably because they've all imploded a long bloody time ago."

The moonshine question has her pausing briefly, touching her fingers lightly on her chin. "Y'ken, it'll probably be even more possible here tae produce it, with all the green. Unfortunately it'll take at least a bloody two weeks tae get the proper hash going, and then another few hours after that tae distill it. The question is whether you're willing tae wait that long for booze." Because she's certainly not.

Eyeing the twitching ear, a resigned expression falls on her features. "Bears?" she wonders.

A long time, he says.

"Ay?" she wonders from around her cigarette. "If you dinnae remember clearly, it cannae be all that important, could it?"

  <Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.

It is easy to say things like that as a joke, but he should remember that with Cassidy Cain she always finds the nugget of truth in the midst of a good joke. Always looking for the upper hand. The edge. Even among her friends.

So the Fox just smirks back at her. "You wouldn't believe me if I told ya, darlin. Havn't I said that one before?" A glance around the forest then as he nods once.

"And yes. Its always bears."

There is a smirk though before he leans one shoulder against a tree, his twin tails flicking about. He hasn't yet shifted out of his more 'natural' form. The form that proves that he is a little bit more than a beastman.

"There isn't though. A place without war. There are a few places that I guess are more peaceful for a time, but violence just seems to be a cosmic constant." The fox adds with a shake of his head. "Moon Cancer though, thats an intresting name for the stuff. I like it though. The name not the stuff, though we kinda seem to be at least a bit restantint to it. Not that I want to chance it."

"Urgh, thats too long. Someone has to be distilling it round here. We just have to find it. I mean we have to get new clothes somewhere anyway. I'm pretty sure we all stick out like a sore thumb...I mean I usually do, but you're usually a bloody social chamelion." A smirk at that before he shrugs.

"Always bears."

Then a smirk. "Naw, I guess not all that important. Just where I came from s'all. Seems...a long time ago now."

  <Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain  has posed.

"You'd be surprised at what I can believe," Cassidy tells him, inclining her head, smoke curling from around the stick pinned between her lips. "I've seen incredible shite from all over, luv. A decade's worth of listening and spinning stories. Besides, look at the situation we're in now - trapped in the bloody moon that we ken next tae nothing about. You've heard what I say all the time, I'm nae in the habit of ruling anything out."

She's seen Morgan in his natural state before; like any soul keyed towards his survival, she has only seen his fur grow pale in the times when he intends to defend himself, or his pack, to the death. The fact that he hasn't shifted out of it is telling in many ways - it speaks of someone who is less comfortable with his new alien surroundings than he can admit to. But that has always been her way, not just to be observant, but to be ridiculously analytical to what she manages to perceive.

She can't help it, the skill has been beaten into the marrow of her bones, no matter how much she tries to act that it doesn't exist.

"I dinnae ken enough about it tae ken just why we're resistant tae it," she says. "But I've come across several who've been taken by it before, there's certain commonalities. Ida, Jack van-Sommat, even the Shotgun Cat Bride. It's nae just stress, it goes deeper than that. Sommat in the...spirit, I guess." She leans against the tree on the other side of Morgan, dropping her bundle, her head tilting back to look at the stars above their heads, and the glowing, white-blue shape of Filgaia across the cosmos.

"Maybe we're resistant because there's nothing left in our souls tae tarnish. Though I'd have a hard time thinking that of you. You're generally a good lad, Morgan, even if you like running with someone like me." She smirks at him sidelong. "Dinnae even tell me you're nae. I still remember the way you put yourself in between Gwen and me when I threatened tae shoot her."

The point about the clothes has her looking down at herself. She has not managed to change from her tattered clothes, holes in her typical scarlet shirt and her corset ripped and tattered, its sturdy, protective and metallic bones exposed for the new world to see. She wrinkles her nose faintly.

"Ay, well. S'pose it's time tae do a little reconnaisance soon. Could use a new shirt."

The sigh she expends after leaves a curling trail of smoke twisting up in the air, a white-gray serpent reaching for the sky. "You miss it then?" she wonders. "Where you came from."

  <Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.

"I always miss it." The answer is quiet, honest. It comes quickly. Though there is a smile as he focuses more on her. "Some things might stretch even your belief, darlin." The Fox replies with a chuckle as he tilts his head easily towards her. "What would you say if I told you I was from further away from Filgaia than we are now." He tilts his head up to look up towards the stars, though the trees. "Not quite sure how far away now. No real way to figure it out." Though there is a smirk again. "Well trapped on the moon that we know nothing about. That's not the worst spot we've been in. Come on darlin, ya like a challenge don't ya?"

His tails twitch again, looking at the state of himself. Of his friend here. Of the rest of them. Thinking back to Gwen's horse and cart. He has to smile. "Gwen's gonna have a whole new world of clients though. So that's somethin' ain't it?"

He pauses a moment to smirk slightly. "Maybe there is more good in you than you think, Cassidy Cain." The fox points out for a moment as he turns to look towards her. His bundle rests against the tree he's propped up against, many times too big for what a man of his size should be carrying. But Morgan's full of suprises, a bit extra strength isn't a new one for the con-woman.

"New shirt, new pants. don't think standing out is gonna be good, espiciailly if we want to find a good place to get a drink."

He pauses though as talk of the woman and Gwen comes up as he turns fully to face her, a thoughtful look on his face. "You know, Cass." There is a smirk, but his eyes are sharp. "That stuff you said to her. About shootin' her. Ya might have fooled most people. But you don't fool me, darlin. Ya ment some of that, what was all that about then?"

  <Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain  has posed.

I always miss it.

It is a sentiment that she can't relate to; the last ten years have been dedicated to eradicating traces of the woman that came before. A stolen name, a base of operations the only place she has ever considered an actual home, people who have become the closest she has ever considered a family, lost and scattered now to the winds. The costs she has paid to obtain what she thought was due her have been high, but no matter how egregious the pain, or how expensive it had truly been, she has never once thought about going back Home.

"Means it's slightly important, then, dinnae it?"

Most days, she doesn't even want to think about it, as if sparing a thought in that direction would undo all the hard work she's done to erase her.

But she doesn't tell Morgan that either. Cassidy continues nursing her cigarette, her eyes tracing over the spray of unfamiliar stars glittering above their heads.

"I'd believe you," she says at last. "About being in a place farther away from Filgaia. Always ken you tae be some kind of alien." There's a grin towards him at that, as sharp as a knife and liable to cut. "But ay, never one tae shy away from a challenge, me. Particularly interesting ones. I figured it was why you and I get along so well."

Almost too well.

His conclusions about her character, however, earn him a laugh, though to her credit, it doesn't sound derisive. "I would bet on other things about myself other than that, luv. I would nae be taking that kind of risk on the quality of my personality and more willing tae wager that you dinnae precisely ken either, what it is about me that keeps you around." Her voice grows absent. "You and Gwen, maybe."

There is something about the way she says their names that speaks of something more, of far away memories and her rarely touched-upon history. It lingers briefly, but it vanishes with another puff on her cigarette.

"Either way, I'm sure we can divvy up the tasks amongst ourselves. Every time I find myself in an unfamiliar place there's always a couple of places I always check out first tae get the lay of the land."

Ash flakes off the end of the stick, but when Morgan turns to look her right in the eye, honeyed brows tilt upwards towards her hairline. The question he asks, however, has her smiling faintly. "Ay, I can fool you still sometimes," she tells him. "As for what that's all about..."

She slides her hands in her pockets, eyes lidding faintly. "...it depends. What happened tae your old unit?"

  <Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.

In many ways the pair of Drifters were similar. In this way though it does set them very much apart. Morgan's family is something he relishes. The memory is something he carries with him always. He loved his family. He was close to them all, back two generations even. He was part of the pack and his childhood was compleatly diverged from anything remotely like that of Cassidy Cain.

It was only later in his life that everything went wrong.

"I guess it does at that. When did you go and get so insiteful eh?" The man pauses for a moment as he watches the ash fly from the tip of her death stick with some amusement. That look he gives her says it all. What he's said so many times. He doesn't even have to say it anymore really.

Those things will kill ya.

Its an old joke though, one that he passes by to focus on that tone she uses for his and Gwen's names. There is a slight tennor there. Something different. Something that catches his attention as she tries to just pass that by.

"I'll check the local merc grounds once we get to some place where they aren't trying to kill us. That might give us at least a direction to go. Any news is good news at this point, and at least Molly will stop shoutin at me." A longer pause. "But that shouting is gonna start again once she realises there is no booze around. Goddamnit."

"At least I make you think you're fooling me." He drawls out right before that last question comes rolling out though the smoke in the haze before her. That lazy question, one that could almost be offhand if it was from anyone else.

But with her....its something different.

He's quiet for a moment before he sighs, running a hand though his hair as his ears flatten slightly. His other hand turns back to duck into his coat, coming out with that familiar flask.

"This gonna be a you show me yours I show you mine sort of thing, Cass?" He asks wryly towards her before he pulls the stopper of the flask out with his teeth to take a swig of some of the last of his precious booze.

  <Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain  has posed.

When did you go and get so insightful, eh?

That faint smile only grows in response, along with an answering cloud of vaporized tar and nicotine. The look he gives her is an old joke, this wouldn't be the first time he ragged her about her smoking, but with the likes of them, especially, jokes have always been a convenient smokescreen for other inconvenient things - concern being the most common. It is noted, as always, but it doesn't necessarily stop her from indulging in this very important vice.

"She's good for you," she tells him simply. "I've seen scores of people fall for the charming fox man act, she dinnae take tae it as easily as most of the people you meet. You need sommat like that tae keep your life interesting, that and it's downright entertaining seeing her shriek at you. You should see the way your ears flatten every time she tries tae put you in your place."

But when he takes out the familiar flask, evergreen irises shot with gold fall on the metallic thing, knowing without seeing it that the monogrammed plate is there, emblazoned with initials that only partially match the name he goes by. She remembers rolling it over her hands, staring at those letters while ensconced in a Baskar medicine man's healing tent, the night she attempted to end their friendship in the worst way for the best reason, or what she thinks is the best reason. She supposes it fits her, that method, perhaps the most glaring tell among her lengthy list of infuriating contradictions, with how quickly she attempts to leave someone the moment she realizes how much she cares about him. Jude has been a recipient of that propensity many times.

This gonna be a you show me yours, I show you mine sort of thing, Cass?

"You're the one who's asking thorny questions, Morgan," she replies. "Can you really blame a lass for testing just how committed you are tae opening that door?"

Searching his thoughtful expression, something she finds there tempers her bladed smile. There were times in their adventures together where Morgan was his own person, but in days like these...

...he reminds her so much of someone else.

  <Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.

"Fair enough," The fox replies as he watches her before he rolls his eyes. "She's just loud that's all." He replies on the subject of Molly. There is a smirk. "And it ain't an act. I am a charming fox." He points out after a moment and a smirk. "I mean you like me don't ya? That means I gotta be somethin right?"

Or something wrong. In her point of view at least.

His thumb rolls across the polished surface of that flask. Feeling familiar carvings there for a moment as she speaks. Points out that this is to be sure that he wants to go down this path. His eyes flicker up before his ears slowly return to their normal position. That thoughtful look remains, watching her for a long moment before he seems to nod to himself.

"They died." The simple answer comes first. "Mystril's Mauraders." A smirk at that. "I didn't choose that name, but they were good. No. They were the best." The smile grows, a hint of pride. "Special Operations. We took the missions no one else would, and we came back alive every time. Whatever suicidal mission we were assigned, we always managed to come back smelling like roses. And man did we love take the suicidal ones."

A shake of his head. "Most people called us mad, but we gained the accolades. The honor." And the smile starts to fade again. "And the enemies to go with it."

A pause again as the smile fades further, the fox tossing the flask from hand to hand. Something to do. Something to keep active. To not dwell on a story that...he isn't liking.

"We dropped behind enemy lines, promised support." A shake of his head. "Never came. Someone gave us bad intel, blocked the reinforcements."

He takes another swig from the flask. The motion quick and violent. "Watched em die, one at a time as he fought for nearly a week though enemy lines. Nearly made it out but...someone tipped the Empire off. Ambushed us. The rest of them died buying me time to get back to friendly lines."

A pause.

"Took a month in a healers care before I could walk again. But I survived. Fat lot of good it did me." A smirk now, though the wan touch to it his eyes tight as he glances away from her. "Ended up stuck here when I got out anyway."

....there is more to the story of course. There always is. Its like digging at an old shrapnel wound, you just keep finding more pieces.

He moves though, his arm lowering to pitch the flask towards her in a low easy arc.

"There? Happy now. Your turn."

His posture though the whole tale is tense. His cadence slow and his words clipped and short. Painfully to the point almost. Its not his normal boisterous style in the least. The fox doesn't like this story. Who would really? Drawn out of him in fits and starts, memories that are like old wounds picked at with his words.


  <Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain  has posed.

I mean you like me don't ya? That means I gotta be somethin' right?

Her smile remains, but something inscrutable passes over those expressive, green-and-gold eyes.

"Ay," she murmurs, looking away to glance back towards where they had left the others. "Sommat."

And then the story unfolds.

There are parts of his tale that reminds her of Leon Albus and Lily Keil: betrayed from within, loyal to a cause that didn't deserve them, but there are aspects about it that differentiates it from the others she has heard recently as well. Crippled, for a time, then somehow ending up in Filgaia, losing the only thing that he could use to travel back to his home and the people who probably love and miss him from somewhere else in the stars. Ending up in the battle arenas of Kislev, a Beastman slave, until he fought his way, literally, to freedom. There are gaps that are missing, still, from the overall picture she has of Morgan Newkirk - like how he ended up in Filgaia in the first place, but that is the blessing and the curse of a good story. Some of them need to be savored slowly to appreciate their complexities.

There, happy now?

The flask reflects the distant light of Filgaia's current phase when he tosses it to her. Fleet fingers snatch it up from the air without even looking at it, nevermind that it is so dark that it is difficult to see and all with the speed of a striking cobra. She finally lowers her eyes, uncapping the thing and lifting it to her lips. After one smooth, burning swallow, she eases it away from her mouth.

She doesn't tell him that she is sorry, doesn't express any sympathy for his losses. It isn't because she can't relate, or even because she can relate too much, to shouldering that kind of emotional devastation. It isn't even because she doesn't care.

Words are her weapons of choice, but they never cease to fail her when they matter most. Instead, she gives him her undivided attention. Instead, she tosses him the flask that bears his old name.

And for once, she isn't smiling.

"Nae." She gives him an answer, no matter how rhetorical the question. "But I thought I would ask. Dinnae you tell me before? A body likes tae feel appreciated."

She keeps her hands in her pockets and she doesn't even fidget. Her head tilts back to look at the stars again.

"There was a point in my life when all I wanted was for all of it tae stop," Cassidy tells him simply. "I tried everything, and when everything dinnae work, I tried tae duel anyone who would take up the fight. During this particularly ridiculous time in my most recent history, I ended up saving a woman. You may have heard of her, she was famous in Filgaia once upon a time...tae people who appreciated music anyway. I was nae even in it tae save her at the time, y'ken, I got in the mess hoping it would..."

Her voice trails off at that.

"It's funny. I dinnae mean tae save her, but she ended up saving me. With her...with them, I thought I could finally..."

Be good. A good person. Someone worth the effort they put into saving her. But if words fail her in expressing the simplest heartfelt sentiments, there is no way she can fully articulate to Morgan just how...

"So when she and her own got in trouble...in real deep shite, from someone I knew....well." Her mouth takes on a sardonic twist. "You heard it from my own mouth, what happened, when Gwen was a hostage. Figured it was nae for me anyway, if that was how it was all going tae end up."

After a moment, she drops the spent filter on the grass, crushing it underneath her bootheel.

"I'm going tae kill him, one day. Dinnae take too kindly tae anyone who takes from me." She lets out a laugh, but there is no real joy behind it, or even self-deprecation "Would nae be much of a thief if I did."

  <Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.

"Not happy?" The bestman's eyes twinkle slightly, hidden amusement there trying in vain to mask the more painfully ragged edges of his memory that saw on his coconscious thought. She's seen that technique before. She's used that technique before, but the beastman isn't quite as practiced as she is at it. The memories leak out around the smile. Just a touch along the edges, but enough to notice.

There is a slow sigh, a smirk. "Well you're right, I did say that. But...well sorry I'm not quite the storyteller ya are. I'm usually the one shoutin' at the crowd, not entertainin' em."

There is a pause there, as that isn't entirely true. Back in the area. Then he was entertaining the crowd, and he was good at it. No matter if he hated it or not. He was good at the bloodsport, and he isn't one to be too proud of something like that.

He falls silent then as she starts her own tale. After all this was a trade of sorts and both of them understand the value of a good trade. Ears pricked forwards now, eyes intent towards her he listens.

There is sympthy there in his eyes. A steady, serious gaze that sits oddly on the fox's face. In the light of the fires he looks older than he claims.

I tried tae duel anyone who would take up the fight.

"I've seen that before. People in the battle pits long enough, they just want out. Any way possible. The hardest fights, the most risky tactics." There is understanding there as his eyes cut to the side. He conntemplated it himself before, when he was trapped. Locked away from everything he knew. No he understands that dark place all too well, though he returns his thoughts to the story itself instead of dwelling on that one chapter.

"What was her name?" He asks softly as she mentioned someone she saved. Someone who might be known. "I've been around long enough I might would reconize it."

But there it is in the end, the story of just what happened. One more chapter in the unfolding book that is Cassidy Cain. Not the end of the book, no he knows there are still more pieces to unpack, but he too understands the way of a good story.

His own flask is caught between two fingers, eyes glinting. Tattoos covering the back of his hand gleaming in the reflected firelight as he runs one finger across the case.

What can he say to make it better? She grasped hope, and it was seared away in the fire of a monstrous betrayal. She tasted what could be only to have it shot away. Not just by some stranger, but by someone she knew. Someone who was at one time...important. Perhaps.

A smile curves up his face, one prominent fang displayed to flash ivory white in the night.

"So," A pause. "You know this is the part of the story where I say we are gonna kill him. Cause I'm gonna help. Because I'm a stubborn old fox like that."

Again he turns to his flask. Tilting it back for another precious swig of his stash of booze. Possibly the last he might get for awhile.

The sympthy for her is there, behind his gaze. Though...he's learned from experience that words aren't always needed to convey that, and with Cassidy Cain words can sometimes just make her twice as vicious.

Instead there is the promise to simply hunt down the one that did it. That...well that means something. At least to him.

  <Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain  has posed.

I've seen that before.

"Ay. I ken."

And that is possibly the only reason why Cassidy is telling him anything, because his place in her life isn't enough - that she looks for something else other than the foundations between two people built by sentiment. It is always a gamble, this, whenever anyone asks to trade for pieces of herself that remain shuttered, away from the fingers of others, no matter how good their intentions. It was simply her way, never one to willingly introduce a person to the bloody, broken life inside of her head. With Morgan, it isn't just because he has exhibited his loyalty and devotion time and time again, it isn't just because he remains her friend, no matter how much she cuts and bleeds him and discourages him from it. It isn't just because he holds on no matter how many times she tries to throw him away, like a rider on top of a stubborn horse that has yet to be broken to bridle.

It's also because she knows if she tells him anything about it, he would find something within his own experiences to be able to relate. And in his case, words are necessary because Morgan isn't Jude, who is capable of knowing her mind without her even saying anything, inordinately gifted as he is to look in her eyes and find what he needs to know within the storms of them.

What was her name?

She exhales quietly and drags out her tattered pack of smokes, drawing another cigarette between her lips and lighting up the end with the precious, silver object she always keeps with her, inhaling deeply from it.

"...Theresa," she finally offers. "Theresa Devivre."

Noah knew of her, too, being a fan of her work - though she had never shared the truth of her connection with her to him. The grande dame of traveling stages, she was a famous entertainer. It has been three years since she last spoke her name, and the familiar syllables cause those dark pupils to shrink at the jolt of pain that brings.

She isn't looking at Morgan when the syllables leave her lips, content to puff away at her cigarette while she watches the unfamiliar constellations glittering above her head. In Filgaia, she would be able to identify every one and their proper placements on the endless canopy above, having been born closer to them than most. Here, on Lunar, the stars are alien and unfamiliar.

So, you know this is the part of the story where I say we are gonna kill him. Cause I'm gonna help.

There's a laugh and when she turns her face back to him, angles it the way she does, the pain is gone and only amusement remains. "You sound almost like Jude when he found out I was looking for a man that needed killing," she tells him. "So bloody quick tae use the word 'we'."

A finger hooks on the pearl necklace around her neck; Gwen had repaired what she could salvage and strung the remaining beads up on leather. It toys with one of the blood-stained surfaces, gleaming like moonfire under the light of the stars overhead.

She knows the sympathy is there, but she says nothing to quell it. "Nae going tae pretend I'm on the side of justice on this one, Morgan. You still going tae be fine with that if it turns out that I brought all that shite on myself?"

  <Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.

There must be something there. Some deeper connection beyond just shared experience in order to draw out a story like this. So there is a smile at that affirmation. Those little three words spun round in that thick accent of hers. An accent he is never sure if its real or faked. Maybe he never will know. That is part of the fun of knowing someone like Cassidy Cain. Morgan was always a person that could see the variables, its what made him a good commander. A good warrior. A good pilot. The variables were all over the place with Cassidy though, nothing ever staying the same for more than a moment. He long ceased trying to calculate most of them.

What he did know though is that he would continue to try. Continue to stand with her. Partly from the novelty of trying to fathom to unfathomable. There was also a thought though, a thought that this broken woman who the world had done such damage too deserved...something more than that. A chance at something more than just scrabbling for existance until fingers blead. So he had long ago decided to try to give her that chance.

And he had a long collection of scars to help him regret that decision.

"Theresa Devivre." He repeats the name, head canting back just slightly. "I know that name. Noah liked her." A pause. "I saw her perform before." He admits with a wry smile. "They liked to parade the top tier battlers out for parties sometimes in Kislev. May their noble houses catch flame and burn to ask." The fox adds wryly as he traces out stars with his eyes. "She made an impression, her and her troupe." A glance towards her, was she part of that he wondered. The curiousity in his eyes obvious. Was that when they first met? Her on a traveling stage and him chained up like an attack dog?

She doesn't look at him even as he studies her. Though there is a soft chuckle at her amusement when she looks back at him, accusing him and Jude of being so quick to promote murder.

"I'm sure Jude used prettier words. Like the completely innocent reporter that he is."

...and if he is actually a completely innocent reporter Morgan will eat his hat.

"Well I'm lazy and let you do the heavy liftin' of course. But I'm gonna assume, since he happens ta still be alive, that there is more involved than just his lonesome." His drawl holds that same slight dusting of amusement before she poses him a question. Againn that twinkling hint of a fang appears in a flash.

"I've learned that we all bring on most of our shite ourselves. I know I did, knowin' yer better than most people and lettin' em know it doesn't make ya many friends. So no, that ain't gonna bother me. Revenge is somethin' I understand as much as anything else. It's not what we all bring with us, it's how we fix it afterwards that I think counts. Cause we all can bring hell with us."

A pause.

"Except maybe Gwen, she's as close to an innocent soul I think I know."

  <Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain  has posed.

Always something else other or on top of the usual things people would expect: Never just because of friendship, love, respect or even simple human consideration, with the proper locks, calculations and combinations ever shifting and moving - but is that so surprising? Cassidy Cain is a thief; she spends so many hours of her day taking what isn't hers while jealously guarding what is hers because to do the same to her is unforgivable and anathema to her existence. Is it not expected, then, that she would make it her business to ensure that her personal vaults are locked so tightly that the only way a person can touch what is inside is when she gives it to him?

And when he lifts his eyes to look at her, curiosity burning within them as to the true origins of how they first met...

Cassidy divines the unspoken question immediately and answers it with nothing but an easy smile.

A few years ago she had simply showed up out of nowhere, calling him by name, and stealing his time just like that. That specific misadventure ended up with the two of them on a boat....and then not on it, when it inevitably sank. They have known one another ever since.

But if it was true, it is strange then, isn't it? What about his former position as a Beastman gladiator drove her into his orbit later in life?

Another story, perhaps.

I'm sure Jude used prettier words. Like the completely innocent reporter that he is.

That is also a story, and that earlier smile remains.

Instead, she pushes away from the tree, her hands returning into the pockets of her leather trousers. "Jerry's got an army," she tells him. "A few dozen souls, maybe? Perhaps more. Nae counting the indirect network, with his resources, and that ridiculous ARM he carries around. But even on his lonesome, he's dangerous."

Smoke escapes the corner of her mouth, her head tilting sideways to look at him and what he says about revenge - and what comes after, the idea about fixing it. Something else passes over her expression at that.

"Ay, well," she continues. "Methinks there's a difference between fixing sommat and preventing it from breaking any further."

After a moment, she takes a few steps towards the fox man, up until his much larger shadow dwarfs her own. Tilting her head back to meet his eyes, her own glitter like a cat's in the shadows - a pair of emeralds, threaded with bits of shattered sunlight. Her gaze sliding up from the small fang poking out on one side of his mouth, and his very different coloring now that they are in Lunar, her smile reappears, helpless in its bent.

"When you find a way back home," she begins. "Maybe I'll tag along. Ten years is a long time staring at bloody deserts."

  <Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.

That enigmatic smile of hers. That look that answers nothing at all causes him to smirk just slightly. He should have expected that, the unspoken question, the mysterious answer. It would explain in part how she knew of him, when he disappeared from Kislev he thought he covered his tracks well enough.

Obviously it wasn't well enough for everyone.

"Sounds like a winner. But hey. If I liked easy jobs, then I wouldn't have friends like I do right?" The fox smirks at that as he slips his flask away, tucking it back inside he longcoat as the silvery fingers of his own ARM flash in the moonlight. "All that means is it'll take a cunning plan." A smirk. "I'll leave that up ta ya, cause I'm the lazy one."

...which is of course a lie. As plans already are turning inside his smiling mind.

Though she knows this. Else she wouldn't have told him in the first place.

There is a shrug though at her comment about fixing things. "Sometimes that is all ya can do, darlin'. From a pilot who has lived though every broken gage in the book, sometimes that's all ya can do."

It's her last comment though that has him grinning right back towards her. Eyes suddenly alive with mischief. "That right there, is likely the most illigal thing I will ever have done. So of course it sounds like a fine plan to me." A pause though, and that grin turns sly as he crosses his arms and gives her a look.

"But now you've gone and done it. Put an idea like that in my head. Show y'all the galaxy at large. You've sealed yer fate Cassidy Cain. Now I have ta keep ya alive till then. Just so I can see the look on yer face."

  <Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain  has posed.

Yes, she knows.

Cassidy can't help but not.

She says nothing in reply to his remark about fixing - or not fixing things. Instead, at the mischievous grin that lights up his expression - and what she might've been after in the first place, that brilliant, cutting expression returns in full force, teeth gleaming as brightly as her pearls. Morgan may grouse, complain and bellyache at all the trouble she brings him, but she remembers every expression afterward that he has worn while running away from it, or fighting through it.

They're the same in that regard. There is a part of them that enjoys it - perhaps more than a part.

And with her putting the idea in her head, she still manages to be a bad influence on a person who exemplifies the very thing.

You've sealed yer fate, Cassidy Cain.

"Nae all that surprising, is it?" she says, taking a step next to him as they start on their way back to their group's campsite. "Would be just like me tae preempt destiny in its own bloody game."