2022-01-26: Give Your Haro a Name
- Log: Give Your Haro A Name?
- Cast: Saraven Vai, Trevor Teach
- Where: Disguised transport Ontarian Lyra
- Date: January 26, 2022
- Summary: Saraven has a run-in with a roguish mercenary from the Belt.
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Traveling openly between bases is difficult for Zeon remnants for three reasons: There aren't many bases anymore, most of them are hidden, and Londo Bell is actively hunting the group down. Open transit is impossible. It's why the ship trundling through the starlanes is not a warship, but a large civilian cargo transport flagged as the Ontarian Lyra. On its face, the ship is a mere hauler, and in fact the hangar does have a large stock of casks of water, barrels of fuel and crates self-sealing stem bolts stowed in its hold.
It also has several mobile suits stowed in between the crates. Docking brackets have been installed to the bulkheads well after-market, holding an assortment of mostly Zeonic machines - a handful of Geara Zulus and a couple of Gelgoogs of a design not seen in Earth space until roughly last week.
The most unusual of them is distinctive because it's been painted a dusty shade of lilac. A few technicians are poring over the Varguil, primarily fussing over its left breast and shoulder. The plating there is being diligently welded - the unit didn't receive much by way of battle damage, but the team's on a deadline to get it fixed.
What's more notable, to the psychic, is the subtle locus of pressure radiating from across the mobile suit walkway down the cargo hold's middle, near a stack of boxes and bins. A quiet, steady node of feeling, scratchy and a little hazy, but present.
Saraven's tucked herself up into a seat with her back to a huge crate of stem bolts. She's tucked her knees up close to her chin, arms loosely wrapped around them. The upper curve of something rounded, glossy and lilac peeks out of her embrace. Silent, she watches the crew work, but her gaze eventually moves to a particular spot. A path.
As if expecting something.
She could go unnoticed until the round thing in her arms flaps a pair of little round winglets and chirps: <Haro~ haro, genki~ Lalah-san, genki~>
<Pose Tracker> Trevor Teach has posed.
The Sleeves are about as much of an irregular force as one could imagine, flying about like wanted criminals, using the secretive highways and by-ways of the interplanetary black market to slip past keen-eyed federatiion checkpoints. In the old days, these space-lanes would have been dominated by Zeonic forces, and such measures would be unnecessary.
...But they are the old days. Each time such measures must be taken, each reminder of glory lost, is a way for the long-fighting veterans to mark the humiliation they suffered, the vengeance that must be theirs. Certainly, there are some of this ship among the sleeves who quietly stew and stoke the fires of their animosity, for the Sleeves are those who would see Zeon rise again...!
And then there's this guy.
"Wow, been a while since I've been on one of these things without there being a big old gash in the hull," the young man says, strolling lazily overtop well-secured crates and barrels like some kind of ship's cat given human form. He walks in a lazy saunter, whistling as he takes in the sights... As well as a mental count of exactly what is onboard. Or, as best as he can tell, anyway.
Who is this dusky-skinned young man? It may have something to do with the strange mobile suit lashed into one of those hidden brackets. The thing is undeniably humanoid, absolutely more of a Gundam than your average Zeonic machine, but only because so much of its frame is salvaged from wrecks of all types and the pilot had seen its once-hodgepodge appearance modified to suit his unique sensibilities over months and years.
It is also: Absolutely not a Martian suit. It's from somewhere... a little further out.
Whistling, the young man surreptitiously snags a bottle of... something? It looks alcoholic? Out of a stash hidden between a fuel barrel and a crate. Space-hauler moonshine, it seems. Someone's private stash. Of course, someone might end up missing it someday, but if they complain, that begs the question of why they were hiding it at all in the first place!
And so, he pops it open and takes a swig, almost strolling right by a certain somebody when a tiny little ball-thing makes a cute noise.
"Oho?" The Man From Vesta asks, pausing mid-step before whirling on his heel, "Hey now what's this I spy? What're you doing hiding away in a place like this, eh? Up to some mischief?" Trevor cracks a conspiratorial smile, "Anything I might be able to get into?"
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
There is, in fact, no gash in the hull. The Ontarian Lyra is a perfectly legitimate(-looking) transport!
Less so its inhabitants. Some of them are inhabitants Saraven's come to recognize. This one not so much. Her eyes have tracked towards that direction even before the man with the bottle makes his swaggering way down the deck. The haze of subtle pressures is briefly cut through by a clearer image.
...carrion bird... what are you seeking down there, carrion bird...?
Lilac eyes follow the man as he grabs the bottle, focused on him with a silent interest even as he finally comes to bear on her. The Haro's wings flutter a couple of times, but Saraven doesn't respond for a couple of seconds.
"Mischief...?" she finally answers, tilting her head slightly to the right.
She pushes to her feet with a light breath, keeping the Haro curled against the padding of her chest. It peeks out above the fold of her arms as she looks up at Trevor, as if assessing him. "You're... not from the Earth Sphere, are you," she questions; her voice is quiet and with a neutral intonation, body language unassuming as she steps forward, out of the shadow of the crates. "But not from Mars either, are you?"
<Pose Tracker> Trevor Teach has posed.
Hey, all transits are more or less legitimate-looking from far enough away! It's when you get into visual range and the usual IFF spoofing doesn't cut it anymore that things start getting a little more hazardous, but the Ontarian Lyra is admittedly quite a handsome vessel even outside of that.
It doesn't even have any asteroid impact scars! That's the mark of a good helmsman! Or just, little active flight-time out in the belt.
A psychic message carries invisibly across quantum space. Is it even intended to be spoken, or is it a loose thought that simply slipped from someone's mental lips?
"Oh, you know. Mischief! Skulduggery! Good old fashioned fun. Unless that's not a thing aboard this ship, I don't know the rules." There's a sense that even if he did, they quite possibly wouldn't hold him back. A carrion bird he might be, but a bird nonetheless, one whose wings are unclipped and unpinned.
The man's smile softens a little as the lilac lady emerges from her shadowy haunt. "Right on both counts! I'm mot from Venus or Mercury, or even Jupiter or beyond, either!" He hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his jacket and leans himself against a nearby container, "Name's Trevor, from out around Vesta. I'd heard-tell that a certain someone was looking for a proper treasure hunter, so I figured I'd come and see what that was all about. And who are the two of you lovely people?"
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Some things go beyond what can be articulated with words. Saraven presses her lips together for a moment, watching Trevor move and speak, taking him in with something more than her eyes and ears. His presence seems to almost cry out to her. Others like her tend to practically sing into her senses.
Her pressure is much more stolid - silent, buckled down. Some songbirds do not sing.
Some also don't have pockets to hook thumbs into. Saraven's in her jumpsuit. She shifts her armful of Haro, moving to tuck it beneath her left arm, the right one settling to her side.
"Vesta?" Her eyebrows rise ever so slightly - there's a flicker of mild curiosity that vanishes behind the air of stoic control instantly. "I've... never been to the Asteroid Belt. I've heard it's very rough." She pauses and glances off to one side, to where the Varguil's being worked on.
"You're talking about what Commander Full is looking for," she murmurs. "Laplace's Box. But...."
The sentence hangs there; her eyes drift back to the man. The air of excitement radiates off of him. Part of her wishes she could latch on to it - but it seems to stop at her surface.
"...Hello, though," she changes tack. "I'm Saraven Vai of the Mars Zeon Independence Army. This is a Haro." She holds it out to Trevor.
The Haro flaps its winglets enthusiastically. "Haro! Trevor-san, ganbare!"
<Pose Tracker> Trevor Teach has posed.
Trevor's presence is... An odd thing, to be true. His 'pressure' is an untamed, untrained thing. A bird stretching its wings so wide as if poised to steal the very sun and stars out of the sky. A roiling vibrant thing that flickers this way and that, yet it wraps the deep shadows that it casts around itself like a shawl or a veil. It sits like a cat upon the senses, filling the space around it with warmth and the unstated threat of deadly claws.
It is, in other words, the presence of a man who can generously be called 'irrepressible' and 'full of life,' but also... somehow dangerous?
But at least, not to her.
"Ahh, it's not so bad. Though it's also the only life I've ever known, so it's not like I've got the space to say how much nicer other places are by comparison," Trevor shrugs and tosses back a swig of (absolutely gut-wrenching) spacer moonshine. "There were some decent colonies, mostly the ones the Jovians were taking care of, I guess. Vesta's pretty much a rock, though."
His smile reaches his eyes with effortless ease... No. Eye. He's wearing an eyepatch under that hair. "Laplace's Box, huh? Well, sounds about right! The best treasures are found inside ominously named boxes, lockers and chests you know?"
Or... something like that. Probably.
"Saraven Vai and a Haro? Well, nice to meet you both! Does this Haro have a name? My own mechanical friend's got one. He's right over there," Trevor gestures, sweeping an arm toward the odd mobile suit in the corner of the container. "That there's Isidore," Trevor announces, then drops into a conspiratorial whisper, "You gotta be careful about what you say 'round that one. He never forgets a rumor."
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Saraven has never actually seen a vulture except in pictures. They always depicted birds with extraordinarily wide, soaring wingspans. Trevor is doing absolutely nothing to dispel that mental picture. Broad and soaring and yet still a risk, whether to himself or to everyone around.
It's a wild energy. It contrasts with hers oddly. She's so controlled that it's hard to feel much from her at all. She's present - but she doesn't impose.
She does, however, lower the Haro. She can't hold it out forever.
"It's good to see others come out with us. I... think it's important to be here. It's my first time on Earth except for almost getting here a few years ago." As she speaks, her eyes drift to that eyepatch, the sight again enough to provoke a subtle eddying of curiosity. The man has clearly been through a lot.
"I don't know what Laplace's Box really is," she admits, then, her voice still muted. "But Commander Full believes it's the key to defeating the Federation. So long as he has no reason to doubt that, that's fine. But it must be something of incredible value...."
At the question, Saraven looks down at the Haro. "No, I just got it," she begins, before the conversation moves towards the machine.
Stepping out of the way of the crates to get a better angle, Saraven looks up at the Isidore. Her eyebrows climb shallowly. "I don't recognize the design. Did you modify something," she begins, before blinking and looking back over to Trevor. Her mind probes for something.
"...Your mobile suit remembers rumours?"
<Pose Tracker> Trevor Teach has posed.
Oh no! Haro has fallen! It's okay, Haro. Everyone still loves you. It's impossible to hate a Haro, this is science fact.
"I've only seen Earth in pictures before. It seems incredible, to live on something so big, without any airlocks or windows or anything holding out the void. 'Course, I've got about as much practice doing anything in a gravity well like that as a toddler does at poker. So I wouldn't expect too much from me, at least for a bit!"
Until he can get his hands on some necessary equipment, that is.
"Something to beat the Federation that fits in a box, huh?" Trevor muses, scratching at his cheek. "Can't be a weapon, I don't think. You don't bring down something like the Federation with a big enough gun. But I guess it doesn't matter what's in the box 'till we find it, huh? So what's that Commander like? With a name like Full Frontal... Must be a pretty interesting guy, huh?" Trevor has never met the man! Full Frontal is a creature of rumors after all. But one thing he absolutely is not is a ghost.
Probably.
"Hm, still thinking of a name, eh...? Names are pretty important, so don't feel like you need to rush it," Trevor says, glancing down at the Haro. It looks... kind of like a grape, or a blueberry though?
Not that he's ever seen either.
"We modified a few things, that's for sure," Trevor chuckles, "Basically anything we could get our hands on. That's how things were, for better or for worse. But you can't put that many parts from that many broken machines on one unit without it getting a bit of a spirit all of its own, you know? Sometimes people say things around that big friend of mind, and they somehow end up finding their way to my ear. Maybe it's ghosts? Who knows!"
(It's probably just Trevor hiding, because he's a stealthy bastard when he wants to be. Probably.)
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
She doesn't drop the Haro! It's resting on her hip, supported by one hand. It continues to look up at Trevor.
Saraven's attention is on the Isidore again, looking the machine over as the adventurous man explains its story. With her free hand, she brushes a dark lock away from her forehead. "I understand that. Mars wasn't as bad that way, but some things we didn't always have. The Varguil came after the Axis Shock, for example. We didn't have anything like that before." She shifts her footing, an integrated heel clicking on deck plating. "...So it must have a special computer of some kind. I've never heard of one that listens to conversations."
Canting her head, she gives Trevor a glance up and down. If there's something he's hiding, she can't quite connect the pieces. Something elusive about the way he feels is sneaking away from her efforts to pin him down beyond the vague sense. A carrion bird, wings wide, soaring and on the hunt.
"I don't know how big the box is," she admits, somewhat noncommittally.
"Commander Full is... very dedicated, yes. I was able to fight with him a few days ago. The enemy fielded a Gundam against him. They weren't a match. We completed the mission very easily. I think... I think the Federation didn't expect to battle the Red Comet."
She holds up the Haro again, turning it over in her hands. "...Name it...?" she murmurs, and that stoic sense is briefly interrupted by a faint ripple of something. Uncertainty - like the thought hadn't even occurred to her and the answer seems far away.
The Haro flaps its wings and flashes its eyes cheerily. "Haro! Genki!"
"...Genki...."
<Pose Tracker> Trevor Teach has posed.
The trick to being elusive is to wear falsehood like a shroud and truth like a badge of honor. Trevor has woven stories into armor, rumors into a cloak. Life is more interesting when it's full of stories, even ones that you know aren't true. But...
There's still the question: What is underneath all of that? What is the truth this man holds himself to?
"The colonies that are favored by the Jovians and especially the big Mass Driver hubs," Trevor answers, "Are usually a lot nicer than the rocks and hulks I grew up in. They still had glass ceilings, though. Domes. But living on Earth and Mars must feel like a totally different thing." This is a man who has never known a real, natural breeze, an atmosphere that was not manufactured and purified or choked with the lingering malodors of recycled air.
At the very least, he doesn't seem to do anything to disguise or enshroud his excitement.
"The Red Comet, huh..." Trevor muses to the hangar ceiling, "...I thought that guy died in the Axis Crash. I guess those rumors were exaggerated? Well, none of my business I guess. He wants something found, and I aim to help find it." Of course, what happens when it's found... Is anyone's guess, isn't it?
"Sounds like a pretty interesting guy-- oh, yeah. Names are real important. Giving someone a name means giving it new life, you know? 'Course, you can name yourself too, but it's all the same. I kept mine but I know folks who've gone through a dozen or more. Genki sounds like a fine name, though," Trevor grins, "And it's one the little guy helped pick out, so that's even better!"
Of the possibility of a special computer aboard his machine, there is no mention. Perhaps he was just distracted by the rest of the conversation flying about...?
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Is it possible for somepme to be fully open, yet closed...?
Saraven looks down at the Haro in her arms, frowning pensively. "...I don't think its name is Genki, I think that's just something it says. I'm not sure what I should call it. I've never... thought of naming it." Her lips come together in a line as she sorts through the question.
"...What should I name it?" she asks, then, blinking once.
Her eyes come up again, settling on Trevor once again. The talk of the Belt catches her interest, and she nods along. "I've heard about the people Jupiter supports. I mean, the Lizards notwithstanding. The Jupiter Energy Fleet must be very important. Is it... true that they mine for water in the Asteroid Belt? I'd heard that from others...." She trails off before looking towards the closed hangar door.
"...I wasn't here for the Axis Shock," she begins again. "I got here too late."
For a couple of beats, Saraven's quiet, momentarily sunk into thought. The computer talk's laid to rest; she notices, and the perceptive probably notice that she noticed, but she breezes past it, seemingly too polite to pry further. "...You've never been to Earth either, have you," she finally says, her voice low and thoughtful.
Lilac eyes track back to Trevor. "I've heard... that there's a city in Britannia people with the movement can go to. Some place called Fort Severn. I've heard it has seasons...."
<Pose Tracker> Trevor Teach has posed.
It all depends on what someone wants to see, doesn't it? Objectively, no person has a single face, and everything is interpreted through the eye of the beholder. Trevor does not intend to do what he does; it's natural for him to wield flair and panache to disguise his true intentions-- but he also rarely ever lies.
At least, not about the important things.
"Oh, hm," Trevor peers long at the little lilac robo-ball with the happy flappy ears and the bright flashing eyes. "...I don't think that's for me to decide, Saraven. Like I said, names are important, and if they're important to you, then you'll find the right name to give them when it comes to you." Always 'them,' not 'it.' He gives the little haro a gentle pat on the... ball.
"They're about one of the most important things out there," Trevor agrees, "At least, in terms of what they've got that people want. Hydrogen and Helium are precious commodities in the Earth Sphere, what with how many machines run on the stuff. Gives the Jovians a lot of clout, for better or worse," And it makes dealing with some of their merchants kind of like trying to wring mercy from a patronizing, stuck-up noble with too much money and too little sense. But he of course does not say that, because a more interesting topic is at hand.
"Oh, yeah. We mine for everything out in the belt. Water ice is precious, of course, but the belt's got all kinds of minerals. I'm told that it's 'cause the whole thing used to be a planet or two, and it broke up ages ago, so all those precious metals are just floating around waiting for someone to find them. There are a lot of rocks out in the belt, and the people and cultures vary from place to place, and so do the minerals. Of course, that also means a lot of prospectors and explorers. Some strike it rich, others..." Trevor shakes his head slowly, "Well, there are also a lot of salvagers out there. And pirates, of course."
And vultures.
"I think that's for the best," he says of the Axis Shock and Saraven missing out on the whole shebang. "I mean... Life's important, isn't it? More important than trying to drop a perfectly good rock on Earth. Ah, but I guess I shouldn't talk like that, some of the old timers might overhear and then I'd have me a black eye."
Beat. Trevor of course noticed that Saraven noticed, but that's his stock and trade, after all. About Earth...
"...No, I never have. Just pictures and stories from the old timers and refugees back home. I imagine even walking in that kind of gravity well is going to take some getting used to. But... I think it'll be fun, don't you?" He flashes a winning grin, "I've never seen rain before! Imagine, all that water just falling from the sky!"
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
It seems like such a simple thing to ask.
Saraven holds the Haro at arms' length and looks at it with what seems to be complete bafflement. It responds to Trevor's patting by flapping its ears and lighting its eyes up cheerily. "Ganbare! Haro haro!"
The silence hangs in the air for a very awkward moment. The receptive can feel the way Saraven's otherwise ordered mind slips for just a moment into an odd, outward-reaching confusion. She parts her lips slightly and blinks up at Trevor, then off to one side towards a technician off in the distance, then back to the Haro again before biting down to her lower lip.
"...Maybe I'll... maybe I'll call it, um... um... rroouuu...nnnnd... boy...?"
"Round Boy genki!" the Haro confirms with a flap of its little ears.
"Wait," Saraven gasps with a quick widening of her eyes. "That was-"
"Haro! Sara genki! Haro!"
Trevor gets the privilege of watching Saraven deflate ever so slightly as a soft blush rises to her cheeks.
Her eyes lift to him again as she tries to cover for the awkwardness and embarrassment. "Um... yes, they are... important to us too. I just haven't had much opportunity to visit the outer system. I don't think many have...."
The dark-haired girl trails off, looking down at the Haro again as she shuffles slightly, weight shifting. "...We've been undergoing higher-grav training in preparation for Earth," she admits, voice quiet. "I have for awhile anyway. I think Commander Rochester on Mars wanted to eventually resume the war against the Earth on a full scale, once we grew strong enough. Maybe it'll happen someday. But... I've heard that the water on Earth sometimes turns to ice before it falls. I've never... been in snow before."
<Pose Tracker> Trevor Teach has posed.
Round... boy...???
Round Boy!?
"Pffffahahaha~" Trevor... actively guffaws, but it's a warm, joyful laugh, bereft of mockery or any ill will. "Round Boy... Is certainly an accurate name for that little guy! He even seems to like it!" And Saraven goes full on blush mode in the wake of it. That little Haro knows the way straight to this poor Newtype's heart. But that's a defining feature of many Haros, isn't it? "That was pretty cute, not gonna lie. I was hoping I'd get to see a smile, but that works too! Gonna have to store that memory for safe keeping, hoo boy."
Saraven... gets a shoulder pat. Pat pat. It's not a headpat, because that would perhaps be presumptuous, and Trevor isn't that rude.
"The outer system, other than Jupiter, is kind of... not the greatest? I love it back home, don't get me wrong. You can do basically anything you like, be basically anyone you want to be. But in terms of quality of life, it's not always the greatest." War... A full scale war on Earth. Trevor sighs wistfully at the thought, "Well, maybe that's in the cards after all. Snow... I think it'd be wonderful to see, too. And the ocean, I hear they've got an entire sea full of water, and that it makes the most wonderful sound when you stand nearby and listen. Storms, too. Like, ones you can actually walk outside in, not like the horror stories that scream along on Jupiter every hour of the day."
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Is he... making fun of her?
Saraven starts at the laugh, her shoulders straightening and her eyebrows shooting up as that blush only grows deeper. She tightens her arms and pushes the Haro up a little more. It covers much of the lower half of her face as she looks awkwardly to one side. "It's... it's not that funny," she murmurs a touch defensively before it occurs to her that the laughter isn't malicious.
It takes her a couple of seconds to catch up, still clearly flustered. "I wasn't trying to be that," she tries to explain, her voice still very quiet. "I don't know about... cute things like that...."
The Haro - Round Boy? - flaps its ears and spins in Saraven's arms, all too happy with the situation. "Ganbare!"
Saraven receives a shoulder pat. She tenses just slightly under the touch. There's a reflex to flinch there that she suppresses only because she doesn't feel any impulse to hurt her.
The more sobering conversation is met with a purse of her lips as she finally, slowly, lowers the Haro to a cradled carry around stomach level. "...I've seen it from above. Our operation the other day was near the Orbital Ring. The Earth is... beautiful to see, from space." For a moment, she closes her eyes. "I... think it's not good. Those old Earthians who forgot dreams... they're hurting the planet, aren't they? If we could stop them from destroying it with war and pollution and things...."
There's not a *ton* of conviction there, but she seems to at least *think* what she's saying has a factual basis!
<Pose Tracker> Trevor Teach has posed.
"The best things in life don't happen when you intend them to," Trevor says, as if repeating an adage that has probably been drilled into his brain by some old fogie back on Vesta. "Whether you were trying to be cute or not, that was still cute." He seems firm on this decision, just as ROUND BOY seems all too pleased with his name.
Saraven does not flinch at a touch. The impulse is still there, though, and on some level Trevor detects it. But... There is a conversation to be had, and it is a heavy one isn't it?
"...I dunno about that, Sara. I've seen some spacenoids do some pretty terrible things, too." He has, in fact, been party to some such terrible deeds. "The way I see it, most people do things that are best for themselves, one way or another. And usually, what's best for someone in the moment might not be the best thing in the long run. There are plenty of people out on the Belt who thought they were doing the right thing at the time, but things turned out differently. All that to say is, I want to think people are people, no matter where they're from, or what they are. Heck, you know they thought Zentrans were monsters back when, too? We've got a few back home that could tell you all kinds of stories."
"Ah, but then," Trevor catches himself being honest with a laugh, "I'm just the treasure hunter. Ideals are something for proper warriors and soldiers and heroes to sort out."
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Saraven's eyebrows come up, but this time less with curiosity than with uncertainty. Again she looks down at the Haro, though her attention drifts to the floor.
"...You're different from a lot of the others," she says, her voice soft and pensive. "I feel like... you're someone who chooses where events take him. That you act on the world without anyone telling you what to do, and if you want to do something else, you do it. Don't you? I think a lot of birds are like that. They can fly wherever they want."
Her tone's as quiet as it's been all along, but there's a hint of something more than observational there. A hole in her understanding, one she can't quite figure out how to fill.
When she lifts her eyes once more, it's with a purse of her lips at the mention of spacenoids' terrible deeds. "...I don't know about those choices," she finally says before glancing off towards the side, towards where the technicians seem to have wrapped up work on the Varguil.
"It's not my place to make choices like that," she says, and the hints of uncertainty fade from her tone as she lapses back into a neutrality that seems almost trained. "The only thing I know is that Zeon needs me to fight, and so long as that's true, it's my duty to do it. If there's still a hope of changing the way things are, I have to be part of it."
<Pose Tracker> Trevor Teach has posed.
"A bird, huh?" Trevor muses, his eyes turning towards a steel-plated sky, "The only one I've ever met was the captain's cockatiel. Damn thing was half metal and older than half of us onboard, but she was about as ornery as anything, that's for sure. Good ol' Steelbeak. That wasn't her actual name, that's just what we call her. On account of the steel beak."
Terrible mining accident behind that particular story.
Birds... aren't too common out in the asteroid belt. But then, maybe in a way, they're actually about the most common thing you could find.
At least, when you're around Vesta.
"...But if you're asking if I'd leave before my job's done, that depends," he admits, after a moment. "I'd rather not die for Zeon if I can help it. There's too much out there I want to see before I leave this world. That said, I wouldn't be able to make much money as a professional treasure hunter if I didn't have some kind of professional ethics, would I? Unless things get real bad, or the boss decides he's had enough of me and terminates my employment, I'll stick around. Even a bird's gotta eat, Sara. So do soldiers, and so heroes, and I reckon earthnoids get about as hungry as spacenoids too."
But then...
There's that sense of distance. Or rather, a sense of... conditioned, single-minded dutifulness. For a moment, the treasure hunter's lips do not form into a frown, but there's a reflex to do so. "Duty, huh...? From my perspective, isn't the act of just living changing the way things are...?"
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
"...Your captain has a bird?" Saraven blinks twice, her eyebrows coming up with a flicker of brief wonder.
Things must be truly different out in the Belt. Saraven's seen birds, but never a captain who owned a parrot. Shifting her Haro to her hip, she scratches delicately at the downward-pointing arrow marking just below the corner of her eye.
As Trevor explains where he stands, the girl listens with her head shallowly bowed. "I suppose that's understandable. You came here for hire, didn't you? So you were able to make that choice...."
The idea of choosing to serve Zeon doesn't fully compute. It's just something she does. She drums her fingers against Round Boy a moment, going awkwardly quiet as she sifts through her thoughts. She eventually settles back into where she usually settles in these situations: Zeon is right anyway, and even if it were fully up to her, she'd still be here.
"...Maybe that's true," she finally concedes before looking up once again. "Commander Full believes we can make a difference, here. So long as that's true, I think it's worth trying. I'm... glad that others are here to help us, too. If treasure hunting is what you're the best at, maybe we'll find Laplace's Box faster."
She tilts her head. "I think that would... be good, anyway."