The gentle shushing of long grasses and the soft glow of reed lamps is the first memory of many hylotl. Mods used: General Store, More Outpost Objects, Foodie's Furniture, Letheia Expanded, Immersive Props, Racial Shop Counters, NpcSpawner+, Prop Pack, WW Furnishing, admin commands to get the NPC clothes. 'See ya around, pardner.'īuild and fic created for the spring prompt 'Market'. 'There's a fella upstairs needs bagging and taggin'.' The novakid slaps Yasahama on the shoulder as he walks off. Oganesson gives him that same feral look, adjusts his gun belt. 'What of you?' Yasahama asks, as they release their grips. 'Thank you, my friend, for getting me this far.'īlue plasma wraps around his cool fin, prickling like static. 'Understood.' Yasahama turns to Oganesson, holds out his arm. If he ain't got your liddle boomstick, ain't no one gonna have it.' Oganesson points to a metal counter, glass over the front broken into ragged spikes. Weaponry of all grades hangs on the walls or piled in heaps around rancid wooden stalls. 'Hold up there.' Yasahama almost walks into the back of Oganesson as the novakid stops at the entrance to a large room, just as decrepit as the rest of the market.

Yasahama's skin crawls he imagines the delicate scales shrivelling up like the posters despite the EPP on his hip. Adverts, bills, wanted posters and graffiti coat the walls, stained and peeling. The overheads flicker, the light seeping in from outside painting everything a toxic green. Yasahama nods, follows close behind Oganesson as the latter leads the way along cramped corridors. Novakid aren't the most facially expressive of races, but Yasahama feels he's on the receiving end of a feral grin. Oganesson puts a hand on Yasahama's shoulder. Yasahama makes the mistake of leaning against the railing, pulling sharply back as it gives under his weight, as rusty and used-up as the rest of this hell-hole. Under the general babble of conversation and the hum of faulty neon, the ventilation clanks air scrubbers, never serviced, struggle to filter poison out of the air. The stairwell concertinas down into dimness, the stairs rusting and slick with condensation.

'It ain't here, it can't be found,' Oganesson says, tracking the flow of people as they come out onto a landing. The blue novakid thumbs at his brand, affecting a sniff. 'You're sure I can find what I'm looking for here?' he asks his companion, as the pair leave the teleporter and weave into the flow of misfits and ne'er-do-wells. Yasahama pulls the wide brim of his hat down further over his trio of ruby eyes, pops the collar of his borrowed jacket.

Star fox mods for starbound