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*:･ﾟ✧
Cleaning and assembling her sniper rifle at the very bottom of the Razor Crest, Gaia's nimble fingers meets a sudden halt. Her curious gaze is drawn up and away from her weapon, eyes falling unto Dawnbringer leaning against the wall of the starship. She then peers toward the ladder. There's a deepening pit resting in her stomach like a sinkhole, and she hopes Mando is not too distracted with steering the Razor Crest for her following words to just waft rashly by.
"Mando?" she calls out," I think—"
Gaia lurches forward, briefly jerked out of her position as the sniper rifle parts are scattered across the floor like puzzle pieces. "Mando!"
Gaia bolts upright — a great rumble conveying throughout the whole of the Razor Crest — and stumbles her way up the ladder. The vast tremors carried amongst the starship's skeleton has her tilt roughly against the walls, nearly thrown head-first into the cockpit and face-planting. She maintains her balance despite the struggle, unruly hair dangling like a curtain over her eyes while she clings to the pilot's chair with a death-grip.
"What's happening?!"
A voice, distinguishably male, filters through the Razor Crest's main radio — pure static in her ears. "Hand over the child, Mando! . . ."
An agitated twitch creeps up Gaia's body and is only cast aside when the violent tremble of rained fire strikes the Razor Crest's right wing. Gaia's Sombra Uniform feels tight against her limbs and it's constricting in the most awful way, burning as if licked by a thousand suns. She can feel the sweat building on her forehead, wondering if this is where their defeat shall be known. Still, she has full faith in her companion nonetheless.
"—I might let you live."
A muffled snarl clatters between Gaia's teeth like razors. "Shut the fuck up!" she bellows.
Another bolt clashes against the Razor Crest, but this time at the very rear. The affliction is so great the starship's balance becomes wholly deterred — thrown into a spin of panic. Gaia slides to the floor at once so as to not fall over, and prehends the Child's asserted chair for dear life while not daring to let go, holding her breath in shy uncertainty.
A frightened whimper can be heard flying past her, and Gaia looks to The Child seated within his makeshift box. His wide, round eyes are focused entirely on her in his moment of dread, curved ears laid flat against his head;he's just as scared as she is. Knowing this, she reaches out to him and gently places her gloved palm atop his head. He attempts to hold her as well, but is thrown off by the next big quiver ricocheting against the cold walls.
