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Aphelion and the "Bad Feeling About This"
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| Aaron_Rawls | Date: Tuesday, 24 May 2011, 0:18 AM | Message # 1 |
 Sergeant
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| All was still and all was in motion, all at once. The sensation was difficult to describe, especially for Aaron Rawls, a man of few words. If it was possible to be falling while in place, it would feel rather like this. Come to think of it, he had experienced something similar on occasion, usually having had too much of a choice liquor. This was no mere case of the spins, however. Rawls became distinctly aware, then, that he was emerging from some form of unconsciousness, and other sensations followed in short order. His eyes were closed, he realized. He was on his back. His boots were on, and uncomfortable. Then, a sudden pain in the back of his head. He winced, and his eyes shot open.
He saw the ceiling above him, unmistakeably that of the Aphelion's galley. Someone was standing over him, and then he heard a sound. Laughter. Who was that? Ransom? Davon, maybe? Probably. The hell happened? "The hell happened?" Rawls mumbled, sitting up feebly on the floor and rubbing the back of his head, which was tender to the touch. He noticed a chair on the floor beside him―the chair he'd been sitting in when he, oh. He'd fallen asleep. And fallen over, apparently. "Oh," he said, blinking.
Aaron Rawls
Captain of the Aphelion
Smuggler, Scoundrel (occasional "Baron")
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| Davon_Vanden | Date: Tuesday, 24 May 2011, 0:44 AM | Message # 2 |
 Lieutenant colonel
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| To be honest, Dav had begun to drift off himself; his booted feet kicked up on the galley's sabaac table and his body sinking ever-so-slowly into the fading maroon couch. Ever since their last job about three months ago, this had been their standard day-to-day operations. A sabaac game here, a cantina run there, on more than one occasion Davon had become so bored out of his mind that he'd actually worked. Just the thought of it chilled him to the bones, and so he'd turned to excessive drink to banish the memory from his head, to no avail, apparently. The others had managed to entertain themselves in some fashion, unfortunately Davon's idea of "entertainment" generally meant the inclusion of either cantina dancers or a nice bottle of Idlewil; and with no work coming in, his hopes had been dashed almost as soon as they'd come up, poor kid. At any rate, here he sat, barely lucid; silently trying to will Rawls into stabilizing himself on the teetering chair. Were he a bit more sober, he might've had the foresight and the energy to perhaps save his Captain in valiant fashion; as it stood, however, he could only watch as Aaron's chair teetered a bit too far, ending quite badly.
Perhaps it was in bad taste; but as soon as the Captain hit the floor, the heavy-set eyes of the Aphelion's navigator shot wide open, and he couldn't help but burst into laughter. The laughter grew in both volume and intensity once Rawls came to, Vanden quickly leaping off the couch and attempting to collect himself before kneeling down over his fearless leader. His gaze followed Aaron's to the upturned chair, and in response Vanden could only answer with a hushed "Yeah..." Chuckling in spite of himself, he rose back to his feet and held out a slender hand in some half-assed attempt to make up for allowing Rawls to injure himself so easily. With a resigned sigh, he half-turned at what he assumed was the sound of boots making their way towards the galley. "This is getting ridiculous, Cap'n." The sentence might have seemed cryptic to some, but the Captain no doubt knew what he meant. Things really were getting out of hand onboard that quaint little ship.
Davon "Booster" Vanden - Big Damn Hero.
For what avail the plough or sail, or land or life, if freedom fail? ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Theme ~ Wanted - Bon Jovi
Message edited by Davon_Vanden - Tuesday, 24 May 2011, 0:46 AM |
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| Aaron_Rawls | Date: Tuesday, 24 May 2011, 10:22 PM | Message # 3 |
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| "Mm," Rawls mumbled in agreement, casually waving off Davon's help as he came to his feet. He stretched the sleep out of his body, then rubbed the back of his head absently. Three months without work was a long time, and it had begun to wear on the Captain as well. True, employment and unemployment, for a smuggler, didn't look all that different (both involved long hours of boredom on the ship), but unemployment made itself felt in subtler ways; in addition to his usual concerns about the cost of fuel and repairs and the salary of the crew, Rawls had to think about food, too. Of course, rations did last a long while, but not as long as they could when so much of the "consumables" budget was spent on liquor, which, to be fair, was "consumable."
Rawls found his eyes drifting to Davon and his bottle of Idlewil, and the thought of lecturing him about his drinking entered the Captain's mind, as it did now and then. But as usual, he dismissed it—Davon was his own man, and he could drink as much as he liked as long as he didn't steer Aphelion into an asteroid field, say, or a fleet of a Star Destroyers. Rawls wouldn't admit it even to himself, but he probably had some paternal feeling for the kid, and he hated to see him drink away his days as his own father, Weston, had done. But the libertarian in Rawls prevailed; he considered Davon an equal and didn't question his personal decisions.
Also, it would be hypocritical to lecture him about drinking, of all things. Even now—especially now, in fact—Rawls was feeling the need for a cool, amber restorative to dull the pain in his head. It worked for hangover headaches, he reasoned, so why not this? He also desperately needed an excuse to get out of the ship, and a walk to the nearest pub was as good as any. Wait. He looked at his wrist chrono. 1522. Hmm, close enough to 1700, he decided. And close enough for Davon too, apparently. In any case, Aphelion wasn't going to get any passengers or cargo with its crew sitting around on its hands. Better to see and be seen, and the best place to do so was always the bar nearest a spaceport.
"Ransom's around here, isn't he?" Rawls asked Davon, wanting to be sure Aphelion's resident gun-crazed lunatic was here to defend the ship while Rawls was gone. "Can't really imagine him stepping outside on Coruscant with his criminal record."
Aaron Rawls
Captain of the Aphelion
Smuggler, Scoundrel (occasional "Baron")
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| Davon_Vanden | Date: Tuesday, 24 May 2011, 10:48 PM | Message # 4 |
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Lieutenant colonel
Group: Users
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| He offered the Captain a nod in affirmation, casually cocking a thumb in the direction of the turbolift. "Down in the cargo bay, Norrick's got 'im moving some crates or something... I didn't pay much attention to it." It was for the best, probably, Ransom couldn't set one foot outside the ship without causing property damage and the last thing the Aphelion and her crew needed was the law on their ass. Not that running from the authorities bothered Dav much, nor was it a rare occurrence in their line of work; but running in boots never offered much in the way of comfort, and Dav was filled to the brim with premium liquor and not willing to work it off. He couldn't help but notice Rawls eying the shiny bottle as well, and offered the blood-red beverage over to him as some sort of peace offering; for what, he didn't know, but he assumed that he'd done something wrong today and it was best to start kissing ass before whatever it was came to light. Straightening the lapels on his dusty jacket, he left the bottle with Rawls and seated himself on the previously-overturned chair and began tightening his boots; when they were planet-side and the Captain asked for Ransom's location, it generally meant they were about to see the light of day; and it was no secret that Vanden could use some sun.
Had he known of Rawls' supposed "paternal feelings", he'd have jumped for joy and hugged the man right there in the galley. His admiration for the Captain shone brightly whenever they engaged one another; the boy admired him as the father he wished he'd had growing up, and he hoped deep down that Rawls at least considered him a nephew or something. For a while he'd attempted to get Aaron to show some of that friendship; most typically in the form of an un-reciprocated fist bump, something that had yielded zero results thus far. At any rate, with his boots tied and the weariness wrung from his body at the prospect of getting fresh air, Vanden rose to his feet and produced a cigarette from his jacket pocket, placing the delicate stick of tobacco behind his ear, permitting himself one final yawn before shaking the exhaustion from his head.
He then found himself wondering where the rest of the crew had gone off to, last he remembered he and Percy had been engaged in a rather one-sided sabaac game and the pilot had promised him a pack of fresh smokes as compensation. He figured Mara would be off in the crew quarters somewhere, doing those... girly things she does, and Ransom was probably drooling over a new "Blasters and Bolts" issue. Perhaps he and the Captain would be making this errand a two-man operation, perhaps not; he wouldn't mind having Mara around, at least, if only so he had something to stare at as they made their way over to the pub. Still, Mara didn't seem too keen on hanging around Coruscant herself, so most likely they'd be entering the pub without eye candy to draw the attention of potential employers, oh well. His next question was rather pointless; despite Rawls' protestations, he and Davon did share a bit of a mental link, the result of the youth's tireless efforts to impress him. "What're you thinkin', Boss Man? Cantina run?"
Davon "Booster" Vanden - Big Damn Hero.
For what avail the plough or sail, or land or life, if freedom fail? ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Theme ~ Wanted - Bon Jovi
Message edited by Davon_Vanden - Tuesday, 24 May 2011, 10:53 PM |
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| Mara_Antares | Date: Wednesday, 25 May 2011, 8:05 PM | Message # 5 |
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| The "girly things" that Mara had been doing had nothing to do with painting her nails or flat ironing her hair. No, she hadn't been organizing her shoe rack by designer or color. She definitely hadn't been trying on every outfit she owned over the last two hours. No, Mara had been searching the holonet to find out where a certain resident of Coruscant lived, or if she was even there.
Last Mara had heard, her sister was an Imp of some sort, and she wanted nothing more than to not get mixed up in that kind of drama. Not for her sake, or for the sake of anyone else on the Aphelion. It had been in her head that she would just stay on the ship the entire time, but Mara grew restless and bored. Besides, from what it looked like, Mara's sister lived kilometers and kilometers from the hanger which the Aphelion rested in. The distance seemed fair enough. With a sigh, she dropped the datapad onto the bed and dragged herself to her feet before she made her way down the corridor, the heels of her stilettos clicking against the metal flooring with each step she took.
They might have known that Mara had a sister, but she never mentioned what she did, only that she and the woman were estranged and she had no desire to see her again. "Did someone say cantina?" She asked as she stepped into galley and tugged lightly on the hem of her black tank top. "Or is this a boy trip?" She said looking between the two of them for a moment. Mara looped her thumb into the pocket of her cropped cargo pants as she leaned in the doorway and crossed her legs just at the ankle, allowing her to tap her heel lightly on the floor.
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| Aaron_Rawls | Date: Wednesday, 25 May 2011, 9:02 PM | Message # 6 |
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Sergeant
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| Rawls leaned over the couch and perched his foot on one of the cushions (good thing Percy wasn't in the room!), and tightened the lace on his boot. He was doing the same with the other when Davon hit on his idea. He looked up at him, then at Mara as she entered the room with that supernaturally good timing of hers that Rawls had become used to. He nodded to her, then to Davon, and went back to work on his boot. "That's the plan," he said, "You're both welcome to come if you'd like." He came to stand again, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his frumpy, but reliable spacer's jacket as he glanced at Davon, skeptically. "If you can walk straight, that is," he said, his eyes wandering, again, to the bottle of Idlewil. He decided against drinking some; his taste in alcohol wasn't as refined as Davon's and, moreover, his guilt about the cost of food and fuel made him a mite apprehensive—he'd rather drop a few credits on cheap beer at the pub than indulge in such a famously expensive liquor. That, and in an unfamiliar pub, someone had to keep sharp, and it might as well be him. He was the Captain, after all.
He realized, then, his usual sense of humor wasn't going to survive all these Captainly concerns for long. It was one or the other—this Rawls wasn't big enough for the two of them. Aphelion needed a job, and soon. "Shall we?" he said, already on his way to the "turbolift" (which, as usual, was out of order. The rung ladder in the turbolift shaft would have to suffice). "Hey Mara," Rawls said thoughtfully as he descended the ladder, his boots clanking on each rung, "While we're at the bar, think you can use your feminine wiles on a potential passenger? We could use the work, and I don't think my feminine wiles are going to win any tender hearts. Or Ransom's, for that matter." He stepped out of the turbolift shaft and into Aphelion's lower deck, the others presumably following him. "Where is Ransom, anyway? If he's in his bunk, I'm not going in there again and—"
Aaron Rawls
Captain of the Aphelion
Smuggler, Scoundrel (occasional "Baron")
Message edited by Aaron_Rawls - Wednesday, 25 May 2011, 9:11 PM |
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| Lafayette_Ransom | Date: Wednesday, 25 May 2011, 9:25 PM | Message # 7 |
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| He had been down in the cargo hold for days now, sleep being a foreign concept between working with Doohan and Antares on getting everything up and running, or in many cases, keeping it up and running, which translated into avoiding deadly failures of equipment. Antares had long left the two of them down there, and that wasn't usually a good thing. Apparently, his usefulness was over and Doohan's patience once again wore thin. It was the usual with the two; when they spent time together, it was always a great and beautiful thing, as a great amount of work was done between the two of them and they always lended a helping hand to each other, physically and mentally. However, every time this happened, Ransom, being Ransom, eventually wore thin on Doohan. The moment of frustration was an explosive, and to the uninvolved outsider, probably entertaining, affair.
Shouting could be heard the moment Rawls' feet hit the deck. The voices were unmistakeably Doohan's and Ransom's, coming from the cargo hold, which in turn accessed the engine room. The sound of a crate being thrown with great strength across a room could be heard, followed by a scream, and then blaster fire, which passed out of the room's open door and into the hallway, in sight of everyone, should they have followed Rawls down below. Immediately, it was followed by a primal yell, which then gave sight to Ransom, marching out of hatch and towards the turbolift and its ladder. "I'm gonna' kill the bastard!" he screamed, for once not actually armed, and it wouldn't take long for any of the three to realize he was on the warpath to the armory to grab a weapon and make an unsuccessful attempt on Doohan's life... yet again.
Lafayette Leroy Jackson Ransom
Formerly "Public Relations" and Gunsmith of the Aphelion
Bounty Hunter and Mercenary
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| Aaron_Rawls | Date: Thursday, 26 May 2011, 1:47 AM | Message # 8 |
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Sergeant
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| Rawls always had a stoic response to blaster fire, including in this case as he stopped in mid-stride and stood, seemingly indifferent, as the thunderous crash of the blaster echoed through the recesses of the ship, leaving behind it on the lower deck a thin cloud of smoke and an acrid, burning smell. But inside, Rawls was seething. It was a fool's errand to keep any of this crew separated from their weapons for long, especially Ransom, but nonetheless the Captain often chastised any of them who brandished a blaster inside. They all knew it was his pet peeve. But for now, his soldier's instinct took over; he resisted the urge to clench his fists, instead strategically placing his foot casually in Ransom's path and sending all 5'11'' of him to the deck. He waved his hand to disperse some of the smoke in front of him. "This is my home!" he shouted after a moment's pause, loud enough for Doohan to hear him in the other room, though it was intended as much for Ransom as it was for the miserly mechanic. "No shooting guns in my home. And it's a starship, dipshits. You shoot at Doohan and miss Doohan, or shoot at Ransom and miss Ransom, odds are you're going to hit something that's actually important."
There was a shamed silence on Doohan's end that would last as long as Ransom let it. Rawls, in the meantime, glared at Ransom and then down the corridor. He walked the few meters to where the blaster hit the wall—fortunately there was no serious damage. This time. But the wall of the corridor had been punched through and it was a miracle of the Force that no wiring, air ducts, or coolant lines were damaged. What had gotten into Doohan? It was utterly unlike him to fire a blaster inside the ship he babied all day. Then again, Ransom did wear on the nerves. But Doohan, unlike Ransom, knew better. "You," Rawls said, pointing at Ransom from down the corridor, "Go for that armory, and I'm locking you in there." Then he glanced at Davon and Mara. The fight was gone from his voice, sounding more exasperated now. "Sorry. You two can wait around or go on ahead if you want," he said, "I need to have a word with Doohan."
With that, he stepped in through the door Ransom had come. If the others did wait around, it wouldn't be long before they heard the muffled sound of Rawls and Doohan having it out in the cargo bay.
Aaron Rawls
Captain of the Aphelion
Smuggler, Scoundrel (occasional "Baron")
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| Mara_Antares | Date: Thursday, 26 May 2011, 8:18 AM | Message # 9 |
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Sergeant
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| "Thank god you don't actually have feminine wiles." Mara commented as she stepped further into the room, and cast her first glance at the other occupant of the room, Davon. She raked her manicured fingertips through her sleek black locks for a moment before she would follow the two to the busted lift. "You know....one of these days we could actually fix this thing." She commented as she peered down the tube at Rawls. Once his feet were planted firmly on deck, Mara swung herself onto the ladder, careful to use only the balls of her feet on the rungs. Climbing down that ladder in heels had come with practice.
At the bottom, she skipped the last rung and landed carefully on the floor before she stepped out into the corridor. As luck would have it, that was precicely the moment that the blaster fire would ring out. It was almost an instinct at the point for Mara to flinch back, and stay out of the way. She had never fired a weapon, so basically she had no use to carry one, therefore hearing and seeing it the ship caused a gut reaction to stay the hell back.
Her gaze would go to Davon for a moment before she turned her attention back to Rawls. "Right well....I am all about being somewhere that is...else." Though she wasn't mud of a beer drinker, it sounded better than being there for the impending drama.
Message edited by Mara_Antares - Thursday, 26 May 2011, 8:19 AM |
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| Davon_Vanden | Date: Thursday, 26 May 2011, 8:54 AM | Message # 10 |
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Lieutenant colonel
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| He'd seen Rawls mad before, once. And by mad; he meant "get the hell out of his way" mad, the kind where Rawls would see red and the best thing anyone could do was hit the deck as quickly as possible. On a scale of 1 to 10, he'd put this particular rant at about a 6, 7 at best. Still, where he'd be ready with a smarmy comment and a quick wink in most situations, Dav knew when to keep his mouth shut, and this was one of those times. So instead he stood, a few feet behind Rawls and Mara, leaning idly in one of the doorways and stifling a giggle as Ransom stumbled awkwardly to the grated floor. He liked Ransom, most days, mainly because the chemically-imbalanced mercenary was always ready with a good story or an offer to buy him a drink; but there were days when he couldn't wrap his head around why the Captain kept the guy around. Far be it from him to judge a man by his past, but they could probably do without having a criminal of his stature aboard a ship with such a... delicate atmosphere.
Dav couldn't help but flinch a little when Aaron turned their attention back to them, Vanden's emerald eyes widening in unmitigated terror until he heard the dramatic shift in tone in the Captain's voice; which eased his fears, for the moment, at least. "We'll be outside," was all he could manage, making sure to keep his gaze low to the floor as he started nudging Mara in the direction of the exit ramp, just desperate to get off the ship before Rawls blew an anger socket. Fighting back the urge to go and catch Doohan in the world of the living, Dav cast one last glance at Ransom. He wondered if he'd ever see the shiny-headed bastard again; and for a moment contemplated running up and hugging him, oh how he yearned to break through that ice-cold exterior and expose the human underneath. Ransom was a man like any other, he hurt, he cried, and perhaps one day... one day Dav could get him to open up. One day, he'd show Leroy that he was human, and maybe then he'd discover the true source of the mercenary's anger issues; for now he suspected some sort of sexual incompetence could be the catalyst.
Davon "Booster" Vanden - Big Damn Hero.
For what avail the plough or sail, or land or life, if freedom fail? ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Theme ~ Wanted - Bon Jovi
Message edited by Davon_Vanden - Thursday, 26 May 2011, 8:56 AM |
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| Percy_Windsor | Date: Monday, 30 May 2011, 8:25 AM | Message # 11 |
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| Anytime the crew made their way to Coruscant Percy made his way to visit his parents, his favorite comic book store, and the local magazine stand where he would purchase a copy of Mid-Flight a modern magazine detailing the latest innovations in ship design and piloting. He would walk the streets of Coruscant freely without fear of being discovered though his face showed up nearly as much as Rawls on the Bounty lists. It was'nt as if he were not afraid of being picked up – he had spent plenty enough time in lockup for some of his stupidity and had no desire to do so again – really he just never thought about it.
Usually – depending on the amount of time the ship was to be birthed on Coruscant – Percy would spend several days with his family – it was nice to sleep in a plush bed from time to time – but he'd always check with Rawls each day to make sure they were not ready to depart. And Rawls had Percy's communicator just in case they needed to make a swift exit, as was all too common with the Aphelion.
This day he had breakfasted with his parents and sister then said his goodbye's – just in case – and took all of the stuff that he'd accumulated with him as he made for the ship. He was whistling some childish tune and reading his comic barely paying attention to the streets as he walked towards the spaceport. Had someone recognized him it would have been all to easy for them to ambush him but today was uneventful as usual.
The sound of blaster fire in or around the ship did not even make him pause anymore, Ransom had that effect on people and, as it was not coupled with any more shouting than Ransom at Doohan, he did not even look up as he approached. When Davon and Mara stepped out Percy passed them, intent on not making himself look the fool any more than was absolutely around Mara, and was halfway up the ramp when he stopped at the sound of Rawl's rage. No one in their right mind would walk openly into that. Not even Percy.
Being caught between standing there looking like a fool – which was all to common around any woman – or going down and trying to make conversation with Davon and Mara – which was likely to result in looking like a fool – Percy just stood on the ramp for a long silent moment before realizing that he probably looked like a fool just standing there. He was tempted to go on and tempt Rawl's wrath, it was no secret that he was not the best conversationalist even with men. Finally though, he remembered something so he turned and dug into his pocket.
“Hey, uh...Dav...I think I owed you something.” With a flick of his wrist he tried to toss a fresh pack of cigs to the navigator with the result – he should have guessed – that it overshot Davon and nearly hit Mara instead.
Percival Hiram Windsor
Ex-Pilot; Aphelion
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| Mara_Antares | Date: Wednesday, 01 Jun 2011, 3:21 AM | Message # 12 |
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Sergeant
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| ((Only posting because of a very sweet IM message I had left this morning...  ))
When Davon nudged Mara, she was already thinking that a quick escape was the best course of action. "Ah yes. Mara and Davon....exiting stage left." She said as she made a quick step over Ransom (though she feasibly could have 'accidently' caught him with her spike heel, she refrained) and then slid around Rawls and darted the short burst to the ramp.
And once there, they saw Percy. The pack of cigs flew towards Davon, missed Davon, and Mara caught them easily. "Even the right brand. Look at you." She smiled to Percy as she handed the pack over to Davon, not even glancing towards him as she held her hand out to give him the item. "Percy....why don't you come with us to the bar?" Mara paused, knowing that she was likely making him a little uncomfortable, but she pressed on.
"You can tell me where you got this jacket. Really handsome. I like it." She complimented as she slipped her fingertips beneath and straightened the lapel unnecessarily. "That and....I don't think you want to go in there. It's not going to be pretty." She flashed another smile before she turned on her heel and walked down the ramp, patting Davon lightly on the upper chest, near to his shoulder, as she walked by.
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| Davon_Vanden | Date: Wednesday, 01 Jun 2011, 10:23 PM | Message # 13 |
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Lieutenant colonel
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| He'd expected Percy to overthrow him, he hadn't expected Mara to be so dexterous; though her skill at unbuttoning his shirt should have tipped him off to that. He couldn't help but chuckle at the memory, then sobered himself as he remembered the ultimate result of that little escapade; subconsciously he reached up to trace scar that had formed just behind his ear, that nightstand ended up paying the ultimate price for its treachery. Following the execution of said durasteel behemoth, Dav had contemplated what he might have told the nightstand's wife and children, were it capable of raising a family. He supposed a simple-yet-vague answer would have sufficed: "He died as he lived... sitting next to my bed." Nevertheless, the familial nuances of decorative furniture was never something he could fully wrap his mind around, and thus he'd simply buried the nightstand in a shallow grave and called it a night. Vanden observed Mara's subtle flirtations (which were really as subtle as a bullet to the eye) with morbid curiosity, mouth slightly agape and unlit cigarette dangling loosely on his bottom lip.
Mara was a difficult woman to read, that was for damn sure. He'd spent close to a year trying to charm his way inside those sweet, sweet pants and finding his advances rebuked at every opportunity; be it from his own failures, her refusals, or some unforeseen act of the Sex Gods. Then, only a month ago, she'd jumped his bones and had thrown him for a loop, only to once again settle back into their old routine. He'd all but given up at this point, preferring instead to simply pick up the drunkest girl he could find and half-carry the poor woman to his quarters; but even then he'd make sure to take her by Mara's (hopefully) open doorway and flash her a quick wink. For a woman to both intrigue and infuriate him so was no small feat; and if he didn't fear for his life he'd perhaps broach the subject with the Captain or, and even he couldn't believe the idea had crossed his thoughts, Ransom... Percy's bemused expression earned him a quiet chuckle from the redhead, and in the corner of his eye he could have sworn he saw certain unsavory characters flashing Mara all sorts of looks. Oh well, best keep pace with her, lest he have to defend her honor or something. Patting Percy on the chest, Dav chuckled again and followed Mara down the ramp.
Davon "Booster" Vanden - Big Damn Hero.
For what avail the plough or sail, or land or life, if freedom fail? ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Theme ~ Wanted - Bon Jovi
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| Percy_Windsor | Date: Thursday, 02 Jun 2011, 10:23 PM | Message # 14 |
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| For Percy's part he nearly choked at mara's seemingly innocent advances because, innocent or not, playful or not, they were advances and not something Percy was really used to. It wasn't as if he'd never been with a woman, in fact there had been a few, but none had ever made Percy comfortable.
He was able to pass his shock off as a light chuckle though his rapidly redening face betrayed him. “Well,” he said. “I have all of this stuff that I should stow in...of course I could just leave it out...” He unstrapped the backpack and dropped it towards the ground only to stop a bare two inches from actually lowering it all the way, caught between a desire to accompany Mara – and Davon if it had to be that way – to the bar and the thought of setting his belongings on the dirty ground Percy froze mid-movement and mid-sentence. He straightened up still clinging to his comic with one hand and the bag with the other when Mara slipped her hand beneath his lapel leaving him completely dumbfounded. Mara had already turned away when Davon's slap brough Percy back to the real world.
“Oh yeah, thanks,” he said to Mara's retreating back. “I got it at this little shop over in my parents district thats wedged between a Corellian Bistro and what appears to be an exotic pet shop where they have all manner of creature tha likes of which you have never seen nor imagined I'd guess. They have all sorts of...hey, there's a dress in there...” with that he ran out of words partly because he realised that he was ambling yet again and partly because he could never recall having seen Mara in a dress. That, and he was positively shaking from her touch.
Percival Hiram Windsor
Ex-Pilot; Aphelion
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| Lafayette_Ransom | Date: Friday, 03 Jun 2011, 0:44 AM | Message # 15 |
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| Perhaps in hindsight, Rawls would realize that locking Ransom in the armory would be a horribly idea. Firstly, it held nearly every weapon and explosive in their possession; secondly, it would be to easy for a man like him to break/blast his out and carry out his mission, now with calculation. He was enough of a master of death impulsively, if he actually thought his actions out and made a plan to kill someone... it would not end well. However, despite all outward appearance and perception by many, Ransom was not in fact a loose cannon. If there was anyone on the crew he craved the approval of, it was Rawls. He would never say so, but he was brought on to do a certain job, and he did it well; typically, Rawls was satisfied with his performance, for which he strove. When Rawls wasn't happy with him, it did in fact disturb him. With that in his head, he silently recovered from the fall, and went up the ladder after Vanden and Antares, and he did not in fact go to the armory but to his quarters.
Were anyone to listen, which none did as they had gone out on the ramp, they would hear a massive ruckus. Many would assume he was in fact finding some kind of item to attempt to follow through with his proclaimed threat. However, this was not the case, as he would heed Rawls' words and was bound and determined to avoid Doohan until he had time to cool off. He would never talk, either, of what happened. It was indeed uncharacteristic of Doohan to act in such a fashion, especially within the ship. He looked up to the old man, to be honest, despite their rocky relationship. For him to respond to yet another of their tiffs like that, also bothered him once he had cooled down, which by now he had. He needed to let off steam... he needed to get off the ship.
So, he put together something, and headed down to the ramp. It was as Percy finished his bumbled sentence, and began to seem visually uncomfortable/overwhelmed to him anyways, he stepped down, with his notable heavy foot step, but instead of his usual ensemble, he was wearing a new outfit. "I'm coming with you guys," he said simply, with a rare show of negative emotion that wasn't associated with some form of anger... he was upset, and visibly so. He was unsure what to make of earlier still, and he felt that a good time in a pub would help him clear his head. It didn't hurt to have a work of art like Mara nearby either.
Lafayette Leroy Jackson Ransom
Formerly "Public Relations" and Gunsmith of the Aphelion
Bounty Hunter and Mercenary
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