circle7 | did you just mess with my popsicle stand

Calibri watched the headquarters come into view with an unexplainable sense of dread settling at the base of his stomach. It might have had to do with being stuck in a ship with a broken Central Gravity system for half a day, and it might have had to do with the stress of accidentally poisoning his boss (as opposed to intentionally, for once), or it might have just been his natural pessimism. Being a pragmatic person and not prone to falling victim to superstitions, though, he dismissed the feeling as an odd sort of 'homesickness' and just went to the dock to prepare for unloading with the rest of the crew. He left the bridge just in time to miss seeing the small hole in the hull of the main Circle Seven ship.

Understandably, then, he was a little bit unprepared when an anxious-looking ship officer greeted them as he and Garamond stepped off the transporter. Bentley had been sent to fetch and collect his medical supplies and belongings - all for the better, too. The doctor had probably been witness enough to Calibri's foul temper, really. "S-Sir," said the officer, with a nod of his head (because salutes were so twenty-seventh century), eyes nervously darting between the more understanding visage of Garamond and the impatient look of his second-in-command. "Th-there was a breach in our security system while you were away, just two days ago. An unidentified ship broke into our storage sector and managed to steal a portion of our weapon supply. We believe it was a military ship from Gladsheim, though our intel hasn't been confirmed yet by the Fourth Circle."

The Fourth Circle, being the partition of Circle Seven largely responsible for the acquisition of information (an integral part of the organization's profitable livelihood), was notoriously slow when not dealt with directly. It was understandable. The leader of the Fourth was stationed on a satellite nestled in a much more central part of the galactic system, and considering the sheer volume of information involved with handling hundreds upon hundred of planets, it was only to be expected. They were still the top authority in intelligence, a fact that made Circle Seven nearly impossible to crack down on by the 'official' authorities.

But Calibri was in no mood for entertaining such boastful thoughts. "What," he said, deadpan, and it might have been the unfortunate officer's imagination, but the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees around the beguilingly small-statured man. Calibri stared at him over the top rim of his glasses, stance deceptively relaxed. "Repeat that."

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Ignoring the look (doubtful if he even noticed it), Calibri similarly sent another two members to fetch said supplies, with similar instructions on where to bring them. When that was taken care of, he stepped out of the way as the movers started to board, hooves, tentacles, legs and all. Circle Seven had a member base that spanned the galaxy and its races, after all, and it wouldn't be an intergalactic organization if they weren't so...motley. There was also a certain sense of pride instilled in every member for being part of it, which would explain the distaste for newcomers - it was probably like outsiders intruding on some sort of sacred circle.

"You should take a break too, boss," Calibri commented, shooting Garamond a sideways glance. At his current height, he only just made it over the large man's shoulders, but that didn't seem to intimidate him at all. The leader's pleasant, amiable demeanor belied the force to be reckoned with underneath, as only certain people were privy to (fortunately or unfortunately, depending on whether you were still alive to tell the tale or not). "You've only just recovered from your poisoning. The hallucinogenics might still be filtering through your system."

Sensing that his suggestion might be met with protest, he added, "At least let Dr. Foster get an actual poison antidote in you first."

Home, thought Bentley. That's right. To them, this was their home, wasn't it? And it was to be his home now, too. A place further from Asche than he would've volunteered to venture, and yet somehow over the sudden, short course he had been with Circle Seven, it had become cozy. Not just for hiding, either. Home sweet home, huh?

"Calibri has a point," Bentley agreed. "Some symptoms may not even show up until later." Even though he was speaking to the boss, his eyes darted among the movers - so many different species he had never seen before. Though he was not greeted with kind stares, the doctor was too caught up to notice. Their glances at the boss were much more amiable; fond, even. Certainly a man they looked up to. Garamond must have quite a relationship with his crew to walk among them as though they're friends. Or maybe it was another outdated stereotype Bentley had in mind to walk in before everyone else with your barrage of bodyguards.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. The stuff’s side-effects have already passed.” Garamond insisted, waving his hand in dismissal of the concern.

Calibri's mouth pressed shut. He had had a feeling Garamond would reply with a comeback like that. "But they're doctor's orders," he commented idly, throwing a pointed glance of his own at Bentley. He was obviously expecting to be backed up.

"Yep," Bentley replied idly, still examining the crowd. "Doctor's orders."

“Trying to get rid of me, huh?” The boss scoffed out, crossing his arms as his glance grazed over the hoards of men entering their travelling vessel. “Alright, I’ll head in. You too, Calibri. I know you haven’t slept too well these past couple days.”

"I'm fine," Calibri sniffed, almost indignantly. The tip of his chin tipped a little skywards, as it tended to do when he was defensive about something. Unreadable as his face was, sometimes his body language was enough to make up for it. Indeed, Calibri usually suffered from bouts of insomnia when they were almost home. It was like a sort of anticipation, mixed in with practical pessimism - he usually feared something bad happening in their absence. Like Gladsheim attacks on their weapons supply. You know, things like that.

"Dr. Foster, if I may leave the boss in your hands?" He folded his hands together, looking somewhat peaceful despite the report of the headquarters' previous disturbance. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that- "I have an interrogation I should be getting to, and it's best not to waste time with these sorts of things."

Finally turning his attention back to the two men, Bentley nodded.

"Leave it to me. A quick shot and you can be on your way, Boss. Though I recommend not partaking in strenuous activity." Just as the doctor was going to step his way through the crowd, out of the docking area into the actual space station, he halted.

"Which... way is the medical bay?"

“That guy’s impossible to reason with.” Garamond mumbled in retaliation of Calibri’s dismissal, although it was really only in range of Bentley. Calibri could often take liberties with little more reprimand than a single snide remark or a generally disgruntled boss, a far leap from what could be said of other members of their crew, even despite their leader’s less-than-callous reputation.

“This way, doctor.” Garamond began again, speaking more clearly now. He placed his hand on Bentley’s shoulder, directing him away from the crowd. “I’ll show you the route to the medical bay. After that you can make yourself at home. I’m sure you’ll be impressed with your facilities here on our flag ship.”

"That so?" Bentley mumbled, close behind the boss's step. He was still distracted by his surroundings - especially the windows where there was fleeting glimpses of stars and nothingness. He might've had plenty of chance to see it on the way here, but he was rather holed up in his medical quarters on the transport ship. Couldn't afford to miss an emergency. "Though minimal, the last wasn't so bad."

did you just mess with my popsicle stand

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