Afternoon. Arkold has just docked his skipper with the urgan after yet another excitement-filled adventure on the high seas. His fellow patrollers are off-duty now and quickly leave the docking bay, but the Jupani, unfortunately, has one last obligation to discharge: delivering the patrol report to his superior.

As the Jupani walks through the corridors towards the duty officer's chamber, he hears sounds of a commotion down one of the side corridors.

Pausing at the noise, the Jupani turns towards where he suspects the sound is coming from. He cocks his head to one side and peers down the hall to try and see what is happening. "Eh?" Unwilling to look very long – and being the impatient person he tends to be – shortly after looking, he begins down that direction.

As the wolf stops to listen, he can make out words: "Aww, c'mon, little mouse. You know you're our very favorite little mouse." There's the sound of mocking laughter. "Don't you want to play with us?"

(Favorite mouse?) The wolf blinks in confusion at hearing this, but stalks forward anyway. When the sound gets loud enough where it would be coming from close by, he slows his steps to approach quietly.

The corridor has a slight curve to it, and as the wolf advances stealthily down it, he at last comes to a point where he can make out the shapes of two large Khatta crewmen, each standing a few paces to either side of a small Skeek they have between them. The mouse's uniform has a few long tears in it, as if from cat claws, and he's backed close against the corridor wall, eyes darting this way and that as he looks for an escape route. One of the Khattas purrs to the other, "I do believe he doesn't like us, Clawkill."

None of the three seemed to have noticed the Jupani yet.

Upon seeing the others Arkold jerks back against the wall to hide around the corner. There her leans back and keeps his ears perked in the direction of the three still listening in on their conversation. (Knew he'd get into trouble. Heh, what a softie.)

The cats watch the Skeek with a languidly dangerous air, amused as they toy with their prey. Clawkill remarks, casually, to his companion, "And after we've been so nice to him, too." The Khatta's eyes narrow as he fixes them on the mouse. "And now he won't even talk to us. Don't you have anything to say, little mouse?"

(Ehh … ) As the Jupani listens, his hands begin to clench into fists for a moment before he glances at them and they release. He shakes his head for a moment and goes back to being a statue.

If the little mouse has anything to say, neither the Jupani nor the Khattas apparently hear it. After a moment, the first Khatta's voice is heard again. "I bet I know how I can make him speak, Claw." A faint swoosh of air, then a sound of tearing cloth and a hiss of pain. "You're pretty fast, little mouse. Not fast enough, I think." A cruel chuckle emerges from the Khatta.

The sound of tearing and the unmistakable hiss cause the wolf to push himself off the wall. He stands straight and clenches his fists again, staring down the hallway that leads to the office of his superior. (Ehh, why should I care?)

Another swoosh through the air, this one terminating in a thud of flesh against flesh. There's a scrabbling sound, followed by more scuffling, then harsh laughter from the Khattas.

"Ah, Dagh's pit!" curses the Jupani as he spins around. The wolf storms into the hallway where the three are gathered and waves a hand through the air, directing the Khattas away. "Get away from 'im!" he snarls.

As the wolf turns the corner again, he sees the threesome shifted a little farther down the corridor, and Kris is crouched lower to the ground now, but the Khattas have maintained their stance to either side of him. When the Jupani approaches, all three look up, the cats blinking at his words. "Hey, buddy," one of them says, his tone soothing, "This ain't no concern of yours. Us and the mouse just havin' a little fun."

The Skeek still hasn't said a word out loud, but his body language speaks volumes about just how much "fun" he is having. His attention has almost immediately reverted to his two tormentors, and while he draws breath in heavy gulps, he watches the cats warily.

The wolf's left hand clenches in a fist while he points the right one at the Khattas. "Eh? You think I'm some sorta fool, that yer tellin' me yer havin' 'fun' with 'im? I think yah know very well what yer doin'. That one's mine, you got it?" He takes another step forward to show he means business.

The cats bare their fangs at the wolf. "Yours?" Clawkill hisses. "I think we'll see abouYYOOWLL!" The Khatta's cry turns into a howl of pain as the mouse takes advantage of his distraction to plant a boot in his crotch.

"I think yer not aware of who yer messin' with, kitties," snarls the Jupani as he dashes forward. Now that one of the is rather occupied, he takes the initiative in delivering a punch to the other's face.

When his comrade doubles over, the other Khatta turns to the mouse, as if about to lash out at him, but his blow is forestalled when he glances towards the Jupani just in time to watch the wolf's fist crash into his face.

Without a second thought, the Jupani steps into the Khatta he just struck and lays into him. He swings both fists in practiced swings to the cat's face, to try and pummel him before he can recover from the first hit.

The rain of blows knock the Khatta backwards even while he tries to lift his hands to block. Kris darts around the pair to deliver a follow up kick to Clawkill's head while the feline is still recovering from the first attack. The kick, clumsily executed, manages to connect and the feline staggers to one side, while straightening.

Clawkill snarls at the mouse as he gathers himself together, but after a glance towards his companion and Arkold, he thinks better of pressing the attack. Growling, he dashes off down the corridor.

As Arkold pushes his target further back, he decides he should likely finish it. He thus grabs the beaten Khatta by the shoulders and pulls him into an upward thrust knee.

The knee connects with a thud and a strangled whimper from the feline, who squirms in Arkold's grasp. "'nuf… yours… ," he chokes out hoarsely.

"Eh, there's a good kitten. Yah shoulda listened to me earlier, cause yah know, violence never solved anythin'." A hand in planted on the squirming Khatta's head before it shoves him backwards down the hall. "Ged outta 'ere!" he calls after him before turning around to face the Skeek. "Uh."

The other legionnaire looks back at him through wary eyes, visibly shaking from the effects of adrenaline coursing through his system. After a moment, Kris nods his head slightly. "Thank you,"

The mouse delivers the acknowledgment of gratitude ungrudgingly and with clear sincerity, although he continues to watch the wolf carefully, as if uncertain what the wolf plans to do next.

The wolf reaches up and scratches at his head just behind his ears. "Uh, yeah," he says. His eyes dart around the room for a moment. "So, you, uh, … " He studies a nearby piece organic structure suddenly, staring at it for a quiet moment before continuing, "eh, s'was nothin'."

"… nothin'," the mouse repeats quietly. He sags against one wall as adrenaline drains out of him, bracing one hand against his face.

After the Skeek moves his eyes away, Arkold lets his hand fall from his head and folds his arms across his chest. For awhile more he says nothing, leaving the hallway to silence as he absently searches the walls – and his thoughts. Finally, he speaks up again. "Are you, eh, hurt?" he asks.

"Don't be thinkin' I care though," he adds quickly after the question is asked.

The mouse seems almost surprised that Arkold is still standing there. "No, I'm not. Just a few scratches." A ghost of a smile crosses his face at the other's quick declaration of indifference. "Thank you for asking, though," he says softly. His breathing has steadied now.

"Eh, good. Don't wanna think I wasted all that effort for nothin'," says the wolf as he finds a new bit of the ship to stare at. (What in Blakat's name am I doing here?) His head shakes at the unspoken question before he lifts a hand to rub his face. "Like I said, yer a real powder puff, Kris."

A faint snort from the mouse answers that comment. "Yeah. I never argued with you on that count." He scratches the tip of his nose for a moment, shifting to rest in a more natural position against the wall. "Kawasaya says 'thank you' for the whistle, by the way."

At the mention of a certain "fishstick", Arkold turns around to gaze down the hallway, his hands soon shoved in his pockets. "Well, I guess that's good too, eh? Some does somethin' fer you, you repay 'em before they ask fer favors. Wouldn't want that fishstick botherin' me more," he says quietly.

The mouse blinks. "Really?" he says, seeming startled. "Hey, um … do you know what this gesture means?" He holds up one hand to the Jupani, three outside fingers together, index finger and thumb spread apart from the others.

"Yah … really," replies the wolf sounding almost uncertain about it. He turns just enough so he can get a good look at the Skeek and see what he is trying to show him. "Eh, that? I thought it was some spotty sign fer 'ello."

Kris nods thoughtfully at Arkold's answer. "No. Actually, this is closer to 'hello'," he adds, almost absently, making a gesture where the fingers spread and then clasp down flat against the palm three times. He shakes his head from the reverie, and adds, "This," he repeats the three-fingers-together-others-spread gesture, "is their sign for 'warning' or 'danger'."

Ears flick, and the wolf's muzzle quirks in a grimace. "Oh, eh, huh. Guess I should'na signed that at 'er when I was tryin' to get her attention then. Now I'm feelin' dumb," he says before chuckling quietly.

Kris half-smiles in response. "Kawasaya thought, when you made that sign at her the other day, you were warning her to stay away from you. She was really surprised by the whistle. I had to reassure her that it wasn't some kind of strange dry-lander weapon, or some kind of insult."

"She saved my life, yah know," says Arkold out of the blue. He shakes his head quietly and turns to look back down the hallway. "Dunno why. I wouldn't have saved 'er."

A heavy sigh escapes the Jupani. "Don't get it at all," he adds.

The mouse looks down the corridor, to the scuff marks on the floor from the earlier fight. "You sure?" he murmurs, almost inaudibly, then adds a little louder, "It's just how she is. She likes people. Likes to see 'em happy. She says dry-landers in water look so helpless and weak that she can't just leave them there." He chuckles. "I think it must be her mothering instinct or something."

"I ain't weak," growls Arkold, although his growl seems to lack any of that energy shown earlier. He moves a hand from his pocket and reaches over to rub his shoulder. "So, what, eh? She's just nice? Some goody-two-shoes who cares about everyone and wants a happy smiley world? The world ain't like that."

Arkold waves the free hand to gesture at the ship absently. "Any world."

"I know." Kris touches his torn uniform with one hand, and chuckles dryly. "Believe me. I know. Still … nothing wrong with wanting the world to be better. Or trying to improve it." He flicks his whiskers back.

Arkold takes in a deep breath and stands there for awhile quietly, not saying a word or moving much at all. After a few minutes pass, he turns and begins walking back down the way he came. "I gotta turn in a report. Don't get yerself in trouble. … Dunno who'll save yah then," he says tiredly.

Kris nods as the Jupani turns away. "I'll try not to. And … thanks again." He watches the other depart, looking thoughtful.