Reconnaissance In Force (Imperium)

Clacky nods, grinning, "Or sell them this as a lead... I don't imagine these poor guys could find their backside with both hands." they step back from the stall very slightly and unstrap their satchel, releasing the sack, "Better check what it even is, first."

Hooking their foot under an empty folding chair and pulling it close, the psyker very cautiously lowers the sack onto the seat, and lets the fabric drop away to see what it was that had the child so worried.

"Ah, hell." Clacky curses quietly in revulsion, as the contents are revealed to indeed be Xenos tech.
Unassuming, but expertly machined nonetheless, the tan and grey casing gives the impression that this narrow box was a large component of something else, rather than a standalone object.
A handle at one end gives some credit to this idea, with what looks like a release mechanism, and cables at the opposite end were perhaps part of this purpose.

But more pressing than any of this, is the bright flashing light next to the handle.
The girl had been right, it has a distinct urgency to it.

"Hell." the psyker repeats, and reaches back over to cover up the bright light for a moment, in case it catches anyone's eye in the gloom.

They pull the cloth back over the light, but as their hand rests against the surface of the box, there's a pause for several long seconds. Clacky goes stiff, catapulted hard into a wave of emotional feedback from the previous owners.
The panicked fear of the human child was a pale mist, over the torrent of alien experiences now flooding the psyker. The collective will of those who had surrounded it last.

They feel the rush of heady optimism and confidence of flight, tempered only with the most secret of concerns.
But then suddenly, fire, terrible heat, flames and the horror those brought, combined with the fear of descent, failing and crashing.
Pain. Collective pain. So much that it couldn't be overcome.
Then a foreign, unfamiliarity. Unwelcoming cold. Snow, ice and rock, unlike any prior understanding.
But arcing over this, pain and desperation. The taste of blood, fear, and the terror of being trapped in the cold, injured and unable to move, bodies immobile from the pain.
Flickers of optimism that someone may come, if they could only stay alive long enough.
Calling out, and when there wasn't enough energy to do that, blinking and breathing. Waiting to be found.

And then nothing.

Stumbling back half a pace, hand at their mouth to stifle their response, Clacky rips their other hand away from the device, a light frost having formed across the hard surface around their fingertips, almost immediately beading away in the limited warmth of the quarry air.

The psyker backs up heavily into Yul, and for the briefest of moments, the bounty hunter gets a condensed, simpler taste of the emotional experience.
The broad strokes - Flight, fire, pain, cold, fear... Desperation of waiting for rescue... All hit painfully clear to the noble, before Clacky comes to their senses and breaks contact with him.

"Throne- sorry... Sorry. I'm so sorry." the psyker turns to face Yul, hands raised in a plea not to be taken out for their mistake, "I'd never-"
They try to steady their breathing, still visibly shaking, frozen tears having run down their cheeks, leaving flecks frost at their eyelashes.

"We've gotta get rid of this."

For a very real moment, the psyker panics, staring at the other, and scared that they've fried Yul's consciousness.
But the bounty hunter blinks it off, and Clacky exhales, realising they've been holding their breath.

"Ah- no. That was... me." Clacky sounds sincerely apologetic, and rather sheepish, "I'm a telepath... Usually a stable one." they wipe the condensation from their cheeks and look at their hands for a moment.

"You can touch that thing, you'd be safe enough. People - and I use the term loosely in this case - they can leave imprints on their surroundings when something deeply emotional happens. You folks can't feel them, but I..." they pull out a pale lavender handkerchief and dry their hands and eyes, pausing, "Think of it like gunpowder. Without ignition it's just harmless grit. But hold a match to it..." Clacky gestures to themselves, then the air, broadly.

Regretful enough to be assistive, for now, they turn their eyes back to the marketplace. Smoothing down their tunic to compose themselves, Clacky starts watch for the nearest uniform headed towards the tents.

for a brief moment in time hawke dared to hope she would get back to the mess tent in time, alas an influx of refugees and market goers trying to put distance between themselves and her ironically slowed her down enough to deflate said hope, sure enough when she finally got to the tent there was no sign of either of the two people she was looking for.

"nice one sam" she muttered to herself in defeat "real smooth"

had 'em right under your nose and you go and lose them in broad daylight, didn't even get a good look a them first so you'd have something to go on...


taking one more look around but not spotting much of anything worthwhile, hawke let out a sigh and slumped her shoulders, trying to figure out what her next move should be.


[blinddeadmcjones Request: [4df] Roll: [+, +, -, -] Result: 0][hawke rolling to look for any trace of the dynamic duo]

Hawkes brow furrowed slightly when she heard the voice, instinctively her right hand went to the pistol grip of her lasgun, albeit slowly so as not to draw alarm from anyone else watching. that someone from the camp was talking to her was definitely a strange 180 compared to the glares and hushed whispers the guard were getting normally from the inhabitants, but all things considered it was preferred to someone trying to kill her.

"well you know how it is" she replied "was looking for something a bit more palatable than grade D corpse starch extract, or at least something to add so i can spice it up a little" turning her head, hawke soon caught sight of clacky nearby, assuming they were the one who just spoke to her, in standard guard fashion she quickly did a once over, looking for any signs of a weapon among other details

not a guard, not a refugee either...still likely to be a local, if a rather well off one...


"hey there, you uh..look a little far from home...as it were"

Clacky raises an eyebrow, amused, "I could say the same." they gesture to Hawke's uniform then give a good natured shrug.
"My House chose to play both sides, so I chose to leave. Rather be homeless than rubbing elbows with that kind of offworlder." the psyker places a finger to their forehead in a disrespectful gesture that clearly refers to the T'au.

They stay leaning against the stall, but gesture for Sam to come closer, "Speaking of which, I'll be blunt... You toss me a couple of thrones so that my associate and I don't have to sleep on the literal street tonight, and we toss you back something that hopefully means you can all leave... Before your lot kicks over something that causes an actual riot."
Clacky nods to the increasingly turbulent market, "I'm well aware of how crowd control goes when Guard don't have the numbers."

Despite referencing a second person, Yul is well out of view, so it's currently unclear exactly who the psyker is referring to.

Cough drops.

As Hawke and Clacky come back around the corner, they would find Yul leaned against the cart nonchalantly. If not for the fact that he was holding a sack at his side at a slight distance- akin to someone who had just cleaned up after a pet had taken a big, stinking dump in the middle of the sidewalk. Just because Clacky had explained that only they could be affected by imprints on the object, didn't mean he trusted the psyker's words. The emotional lash had been unpleasant enough to convince him otherwise.

The look on Yul's face was hardly friendly as he shifted his coat open to gain easier access to his laspistol at the mental mention of armed. Not that he would've expected anything less from the Guard. He scrutinized Hawke with a quick up-down of his eyes, noting visible equipment.

"Hands where I can see 'em, Miss. Truce?" Altanbaatar called out as the two came into view, holding his free hand up mid-way, and the one holding the sack out to his side. He didn't make any effort to hide his equipment, just apparent enough that in the sack was likely the item that the Guard could take and not kick up a fuss about.