+1 Alien Freedom Fighter

[lwothin]

There's yet another alien in the Nexus. This one looks something like a bipedal, featherless brown dinosaur, standing roughly five feet tall upright, with a short tail and flickering scent-tongues that taste the air from his nostrils. He's on high alert, using all of his senses to collect information on this place. 

The fact that this creature's wearing a bandoleer indicates that he's not a dinosaur, or any kind of creature from Earth. There's an alien-looking weapon and a pamphlet tucked away into his gear. He bears himself with dignity as best he can - he's the representative of his people in this strange land, and it's important to look good. 

As their leader, it's his job to assess this place and its population to see whether it's a safe place for his people to visit, or safe enough.

Thankfully, the people here should be able to understand him with no need for the usual translators. The saurian sits on a stone bench. Unfortunately, this bench was not built for a creature of his body shape. His voice is high-pitched, musical and whistling even through the translator, with the occasional click deep in his throat. 

"A place like this must be a haven for people fleeing oppression and war in their own worlds." Lwothin slowly blinks three-lidded eyes. "Tell me, do you prefer the Nexus, or the world you originally came from? What do you value most in this place?"

Terms and Conditions

[rekindledtitan]

Blaze-37 hasn’t been in the Nexus much for a few months, but at last she’s back doing her rounds: seeing what bits of the local scenery have moved around, keeping sensors peeled for Darkness and other corruptions- and of course, checking on the Guardian patrol beacons. The short steel poles with their blinking green heads are tucked away in spots all over the Nexus – up on rooftops, tucked among the roots of trees, sitting next to an ancient-looking telephone booth. They take quite a bit of attentive maintenance, if only to chase them down when they get appropriated by Jawas.

Blaze isn’t usually a bot for standing around on the job, but today is the exception. The Titan in her space-age plate armor is frowning over a small notebook while her Ghost flits over the nearby beacon. Periodically she scribbles something down, then rubs one antenna with the hand holding the pen. She’s left a couple of ink smudges along her cheek by now.

“Hey, do you know anything about employment contracts?” she asks when she looks up. “I’m, uh, trying to figure out what ought to go in one.”

She gives a troubled ‘hmmh’, optics elsewhere for a minute. “And how do you help someone when you think maybe they’re just telling you what you want to hear? What they think you want to hear, I mean. Light, I’m getting a headache.”

Her Ghost glances up at her with a sympathetic flex of his pointed shell. Then he gets back to using the beacon network to ping any other Ghosts (and Guardians) in range.