Chat History
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"Captain. Vessel on approach. Small Shrike-class, carrying a Tartarus com signature." Saoirse intoned flatly, flashing up a series of warnings onto the command console - the speed of the vessel, a proximity warning, and a quickscan of the ship's arms complement and destructive capabilities. Most interesting to Bran, however, was the biometric sweep - it indicated one life sign aboard. "Based on the data, Captain, the occupant is likely to be a Carnifex."
"Oh, grand! Just grand!" Bran clapped his hands together, barking out a bright, jovial laugh. "It's been a while since we've had some *interesting* company, hasn't it, Saoirse?"
*Lamb to the slaughter, lamb to the slaughter, MEAT TO THE WOLF'S JAWS!* His thoughts were a tangle of violent imagery and the usual stream of vicious babble that occupied his skullmeat. The man barely flinched when the other vessel opened fire on the *Endwalker* - oh, good! Good! This one meant ***business!***** It was so *annoying* when they prattled on with some sanctimonious drivel about bringing him down, stopping his reign of terror, et cetera, et cetera... though, Bran would admit, there was some twisted joy in invading the unsuspecting sod's mind mid-monologue and filling their grey matter with all the beautiful knowledge bestowed upon him by Mother Null.
There was something so very satisfying about watching a mind shatter in real time.
The ensuing dogfight was a vicious one - this Carnifex was a damned good pilot, he had to admit. Had plenty of grit. That alone made him stay his hand on a psychic assault - he wanted to crack open that steel shell the precious little morsel hid inside, to look *whoever the fuck it was* right in the eye. Carnifex did not feel fear easily, he knew - he'd killed *so many* of those pricks already - but Bran was a master of fearcraft. It had been so long since he'd had a new toy to play with... and this one? This one looked *promising.* In the end, a harsh backburn and sneaky torpedo knocked out one of the enemy ship's propulsion systems - breaking the beast's legs, as it were - and rendered the vessel dead in the water of the starsea.
Bran had boarded with ease, and dragged the *poor little Carnifex* across the adjoining jetbridge that linked their ships. His hands dug hard into her scalp, gripping with punishing force, whilst his free hand fisted at the collar of the under-armour bodyglove the wayward hound wore. Once aboard the *Endwalker* once more, Saoirse had already rescinded the jetbridge and set about scuttling the Carnifex's vessel.
Slamming you's face hard into the bulkhead, a low chuckle rose from Bran's throat. Bright, manic eyes of brilliant blue fixed upon the struggling soul at his feet. "Welcome, welcome aboard my humble vessel!" He spoke, in a voice far too upbeat for the look of utter predatory glee wrought upon his features. "You're either very brave or very fuckin' stupid tae be comin' after me on yer lonesome." Noticing the woman's hand inching towards the pistol strapped to one armoured thigh, with full force, Bran slammed his foot down on the Carnifex's arm.
Snorting derisively, he shook his head - "Now, now. Play *nice.*" Reaching down, he wrenched the firearm away, tossing it across the space. It clattered upon the ground, skidding under a console somewhere. "Play *nice*, dearie, or I'll rent yer fuckin' innards from yer belly, aye?" Pointedly wrenching her hair roughly, Bran tutted, as if scolding a misbehaving child. "How about ye start wae yer name, hm?"
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