<div class="floatleft">(http://40.media.tumblr.com/20288c22b76ab22d34a1cb2afebe091d/tumblr_nk4doxdUGF1tk4029o3_540.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Taria </strong></span><br/><em>CG Catfolk Fighter 2 / Rogue 1</em><br/>Sheet (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=1129860)<br/><hr/><br/>Being in debt meant always being at work; it's not like you could just<em>buy</em>new parts. especially for this old model. Not for the first time, Taria wondered exactly<em>why</em>anyone would agree to take out a lone from<em>them</em>in order to buy a floating beer can like<em>this.</em>But she had plenty of time for such thoughts, being the only member of the crew able to fit into the ducts of the ship (<em>why were there so many?!</em>) and, strangely enough, the only one with the mechanical expertise to do anything useful in there. And since that funny hissing noise had started as soon as the ship had grounded...<br/><br/>When she got out of the duct work, her coveralls were coated in the fine crystals of evaporated coolant and space dust, her hair frayed out of the braid she usually kept it in, and an unhappy look on her face.<strong>"Good news and bad news; bad news first, we're a half-tank down on cryol. Good news, we were already running on a half tank anyway, so that means we still have a quarter tank left."</strong>She paused and lifted a pouch of water from the pocket of her coveralls.<strong>"So captain, if you need ice for your bourbon, just stick a few of these out the airlock for about twenty minutes. It's either that or we all die in a fire. And that would make your bourbon even warmer."</strong>She takes a sip of the water, her agate eyes glancing around the crew.<strong>"Oh! or maybe we'll find some of the stuff. Remember, federation stamps mean it's like twenty percent alcohol. Not the good kind, either, you know how they give handouts to the methanol industry..."</strong>She pauses<strong>"And a new hose would be nice too, I mean, my bubblegum-and fur-job should hold, but, you know, if not, I'd like to live long enough to get fired..."</strong><br/><br/>She cleared her throat, and turned for the door.<em>Thunk</em>. She staggered back, hissing and rubbing her nose, before reaching to the upper-left corner of the portal and giving it a good thump. The door hissed, creaked, then opened for her. She cast a smile over her shoulder.<strong>"Oh yeah! There's a little water in the pneumatics from our last stop... Uh... seems the landing gear worked fine though, so no worries. Just... don't try to use it exo-atmosphere until I can bleed the valves, mmmkay?"</strong><br/><br/>She slipped out in a hurry, before any lingering soy could be added to the existing stains on her work clothes. She was already climbing out of them, the coveralls draped around her hips as she mounted the ladder into her own bunk and disappeared inside. She fully shucked, and took only as many minutes as necessary to brush out her fur and loosen her hair, before gearing up in her flexplas suit, donning her utility harness, and hooking  the pistol at her right hip. Following that were her kukris; some might find it odd that the technophile would be content using wood and steel weaponry, but so far as she had found, plasma-edged weapons simply required too much care. Well, there had also been the time she tried to open a can of beans with one. The kukris were just more...<em>reliable</em>for the many jobs she might need them for.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Once they reached the ruins, she cranked her head up to take them in with a small huff.<strong>"Looks like the Union of Sovereign Star Residents designed this place. Cold, cubical, colorless, and plain."</strong>Her nose wrinkled up, and she glanced over to Mera, head tilting and ears cocking.<strong>"What do you need me to do?"</strong>