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Aphelion and the Words of Wisdom
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| Davon_Vanden | Date: Monday, 05 Sep 2011, 9:39 PM | Message # 1 |
 Lieutenant colonel
Group: Users
Messages: 100
Status: Offline
| "Have you ever been in love, Norrick?" No sooner had the words left his mouth did Davon bite back a chuckle, amused at the futility of such a question. Norrick Doohan was a lot of things, sentimental wasn't one of them. The inquiry itself went unanswered, the only sign of the mechanic's presence in the cargo bay was the faint clanging of tools hitting the grated durasteel floor. Davon himself was propped up on an empty spice crate, lanky arms laced behind his head as a cigarette dangled lazily from the corner of his mouth. The cargo bay being the only place on the ship that he was allowed to smoke meant that Dav spent a lot of time down there, usually alone, tucked into a corner as he pondered the many interwoven threads of his life. And while the crotchety mechanic never really responded to any of the boy's questions, it was nice just to have someone listening for a change.
Rawls, to his credit, was more patient with Vanden than the rest of the crew -- save for Mara, maybe; but even she had a tendency to tune him out from time to time. Not that he could blame any of them, Dav could ramble with the best of them, and outside of Ransom any of the crew would die for each other, especially the Captain. The days following his arrest (and incarceration) had drawn a veil of melancholy over the ship, each and every one of them felt the loss of their leader in different ways. Dav himself had lost a father figure, and despite his vehement pleas to rescue Rawls, Doohan had overruled him as the new acting Captain. And so it was that the navigator's days came to be spent in booze-tinted relaxation; the entire crew having become stuck in some rut that they couldn't dig out of.
Getting back to his question, Vanden took the geezer's non-answer in stride and continued his deep and intellectual train of thought. "I thought I was, once... in love, I mean. Turns out it was just beer-goggles, but oh well, live and learn, eh?" Smiling in spite of himself, he wrapped two knuckles around the filter of his cigarette and took a long, smooth drag, before he ashed the butt on the wall and tossed it into a nearby junkpile. With childlike glee, he formed a ring with his lips, his eyes lighting up as he successfully produced a number of perfect smoke rings. Another crash, this one more akin to a toolbox than a simple wrench or hydrospanner; and an exasperated grunt from the far corner of the cargo hold was all Dav needed to know that Doohan was having a hard go of fixing the air conditioner. "That's not to say that I don't believe in love, or anything. I mean, who doesn't want to feel all warm and fuzzy as a girl slides a hand up your shirt? Usually when they do that it's all nails, for some reason they think that us men enjoy scratches. Utter crap, that is.
"It's just that love is so unrealistic, to me -- something woman dreamt up at the formation of time to fill the void in their lives, promising themselves that 'mister right would find them eventually.' But there is no 'mister right' Norrick! People just can't accept that life is one boring ride of little to no importance, so they seek verification of their worth in the affection of others."
By that point, the tangent had grown to near-biblical proportions in his mind, a veritable river of vociferation threatened to spill forth from gritted teeth. But he knew that such words, no matter how beautiful, would fall on deaf ears. So, Dav instead reached into his coat pocket, lit another cigarette, and watched the smoke wisp playfully through the air. "What do you think, man? I can't imagine you as the loving sort, much less the sort that could even get close to a halfway decent woman..."
Silence reigned, no shocked or appalled rebuke rose forth from the deepest recesses of the dimly-lit cargo hold. It took him several moments to realize that, in the course of his impassioned speech, Doohan had up and left the cargo hold completely, without so much as a grunt to indicate his departure. Humbled, Dav finally sat up on the spice crate, his cigarette burning down to the filter and singing his lips. "Well," he said at length, "I didn't want to talk to you either." And so here he was, alone, just a devastatingly handsome man and his thoughts. Perhaps it was out of some need to actually work for his paycheck, perhaps it was simply because he wanted a drink; but the idea suddenly came to him that the local cantina would be an excellent place to go. Anything was better than languishing on the Aphelion, at this point.
As he made his way up the cable ladder that led up to the main deck, Dav checked to ensure his blaster was securely fastened at his hip before heading down to the exit ramp. Almost as an afterthought, he poked his head back into the ship's hallway and shouted. "Leroy! Mara! Goin' to the bar, meet me outside in five if you're comin'!"
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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| Garik_Taynor | Date: Monday, 05 Sep 2011, 10:36 PM | Message # 2 |
 Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 29
Status: Offline
| "Can I come?" asked a voice near enough to Davon to startle him if he wasn't expecting it (and he apparently wasn't). Turning around, he would find at the foot of the ramp a pair of boots, a trench coat, and a hat with a man inside of them standing almost a head taller than Davon and with three times the smell of tobacco on his breath. "Only I was hoping to talk some business first," he added. An older man who looked to be in his 50's, he seemed to have put in a minimum amount of effort to appear presentable; his hat concealed his uncombed and uncut (at least recently) hair, while his trench coat no doubt did its part in concealing a decent number of food and liquor stains—and probably a sidearm too, from the loose manner that he wore it. He had a weathered face that seemed knowing and somewhat bemused as it regarded Davon.
"Name's Taynor," he said, "I need a ride and I'm told this ship's known to take on passengers from time to time." He glanced over Davon's head and up the ramp, something about his interrogative gaze seeming almost to invade the ship's privacy. It might occur to Davon somewhat belatedly that for a man of his apparent age, this 'Taynor' was decently built and his once broken nose showed that he was no stranger to a fight. Nothing in his demeanor suggested he was looking for one here, however.
Lieutenant Garik Taynor
Coruscant Security Force
Homicide, Larceny, Special Cases
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| Mara_Antares | Date: Tuesday, 06 Sep 2011, 6:27 AM | Message # 3 |
 Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 35
Status: Offline
| Mara had, on more than one occasion since Rawls arrest, rearranged her shoe rack. He hated her obsession with heels, but she had never mud cared. As long as they weren't in his way and didn't interfere with the way she did her job, what did it matter? It was something to do anyway, and aside from that, it made her feel better, though it still didn't fill the odd void that she felt. In fact, Mara wasn't sure why she felt that way. They hadn't been particularly close, like him and Dav were.
She had been trying to learn how to fix things, something Rawls had suggested, though it had been a rather tedious process, seeing as how Doohan barely spoke. He was content to let her just talk and talk if she felt like it,only occasionally nodding or offering grunt of dissaproval. Sometimes it was approval, but it was hard to distinguish one non-commital grunt from another. Sometimes, when she did get something right, he even nodded, then patted her shoulder with a calloused hand, before he walked away.
When Davon hollered for her that afternoon, Mara was just washing up. She pulled on her favorite heels and walked towers the ramp and down it. "So original, going to the bar...." she murmured, but stopped short when she saw the other man standing there. They hadn't discussed leaving since it had happened, but she knew they still had to work despite his absence. That fact did jot make her any less uncomfortable though.
"Dav?" He would have never seen her hesitate like that. "Need help? "
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| Davon_Vanden | Date: Wednesday, 07 Sep 2011, 10:12 PM | Message # 4 |
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Lieutenant colonel
Group: Users
Messages: 100
Status: Offline
| The voice was gruff, yet wizened; something about the gravely tone of the man's voice reminded Davon of a philandering uncle he had back on Naboo. At least, it would later, for now Vanden's hand flew instinctively to his blaster, grip slackening when he realized that the man standing before them seemed rather content to not cause trouble. He brought a hand up to brush a lock of red hair off his jacket and regarded the newcomer with a cocked brow. He hadn't even noticed Mara appearing at the threshold until she'd spoken up, but in response to her question Dav waved her back. The old man finished the necessary introductions, his last name ringing a familiar bell in the back of Vanden's mind, but he put the thought out of his head, for now.
"Well if you're looking for passage, I'm the man you want to talk to," he said at length, half-turning back to Mara and cocking his head; an inclination that it was safe for her to come down. "Name's Davon, this here's Mara. We can talk business if you want, old man, but either way I'm in need of a stiff drink. Walk with me?" The pungent and familiar scent of alcohol and tobacco invaded his nostrils as he sidled past Taynor, confident that Mara would catch up quickly enough. The sun had just begun it's setting over Imperial Center, staining the hangar bay a brilliant collage of red and orange. The looming shadow of the Aphelion soon trailed off behind them as they exited onto the bustling streets of the slums district. "So," he began again, hazel eyes scanning the area for any sort of Imperial presence. "What can we do you for, Mr. Taynor?"
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 - Wednesday, 07 Sep 2011, 10:12 PM |
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| Garik_Taynor | Date: Sunday, 11 Sep 2011, 10:40 PM | Message # 5 |
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Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 29
Status: Offline
| "My experience, isn't good to talk business over booze, Davon," the old man said as Davon began to walk past him on his way to the bar. Words of wisdom, those. Garik reached into his trench coat and retrieved a formidable flask, shoving it into Davon's chest as he walked past, or tried to. "But it's a good thing I bring the bar with me, if your heart's set on it." He entrusted the flask—filled with a certain brew of mythical reputation in these parts of Coruscant—to the navigator as he pressed past him and began walking up the ramp. "Mara, was it?" Garik repeated, the chivalrous coot in him possessing him to take off his hat as he nodded in greeting to her. The smell of man would precede him up the ramp. "Name's Garik," he introduced himself, then glanced back down at Davon, "Thinking I might have a look around the ship before I make a decision, if it's all the same to you. I do like it so far though," he added as his glance drifted back to Mara.
Lieutenant Garik Taynor
Coruscant Security Force
Homicide, Larceny, Special Cases
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| Mara_Antares | Date: Monday, 12 Sep 2011, 4:27 AM | Message # 6 |
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Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 35
Status: Offline
| Mara recoiled when Davon held up a hand for her to stop. As a general rule, she rarely listened to the navigator, but in this case she stooped dead in her tracks and even took a hesitant step back with one foot. Her gaze locked on the older gentleman as the two talked. Something about his just kinda creeped her out. Maybe it was the hat, and then the tipping of said hat.
Either way, she stayed on the ramp as he walked up, taking care to block the way just enough that he would have to go around her. "No offense intented, Mister, but its awful rude just to...." And he sidled past her anyway and tossed a glance back before she gave Davon her own relatively helpless look.
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| Davon_Vanden | Date: Wednesday, 14 Sep 2011, 8:03 PM | Message # 7 |
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Lieutenant colonel
Group: Users
Messages: 100
Status: Offline
| Garik's spontaneity had caught them both off guard, and while his actions could possibly be misconstrued as rude by some, Dav saw things differently. Granted, that was only after Taynor had thrust a simple flask into the younger man's chest -- and only after Davon actually had a swig did he realize just who this man was. At current Taynor stood halfway up the ramp, regarding Mara with (most likely) a bemused, or even puzzled, expression. "Come now, Mara," Dav chided as he came up to rest against the ramp's beam, "I say we hear him out, at least, I've a good feeling about this one." He neglected to mention that his 'good feelings' were usually wrong, but that wasn't anything to bother Mara about. They could use the work, if this stranger was offering, which certainly seemed to be the case.
"Now then, Mr. Taynor; you're looking for a ride, and we're just the... men for the job. Men and one woman, actually." He took another sip of the flask and then offered it back to Garik, lips creasing into a toothy grin as he did so. "Excellent brew, by the way. I've had it before, our mechanic says the vapor alone could singe the hair off his arms. We'd be willing to take you wherever you need to go, but before I even let you on the ship, we're going to have to know where, when, and how much." He counted those off on slender fingers as he spoke, head cocking back in Mara's direction and smiling. Looks like their luck had turned, for once.
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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| Lafayette_Ransom | Date: Monday, 19 Sep 2011, 2:25 AM | Message # 8 |
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Private
Group: Users
Messages: 15
Status: Offline
| When Rawls was arrest, he wasn't there. It was that failure that had entrenched itself into his brain and firmly rooted itself like a parasite within his mind. He was wracked with guilt over his failure to help out the man who gave him a second life. There was a public version of how he was hired on, and the real version. The public one, that Rawls and himself insisted was the real story, was that Rawls had heard of Ransom and sought him out to hire him as the resident hired gun and informal guardian of the crew. The real version, was that he was part of a mercenary band hunting the crew of the Aphelion for the bounty that was on them at the time. While confronting Rawls in an alley, figuring if they took him out first, they could easily dispatch the crew, a theory that was most likely correct, Ransom was convinced that both, Rawls could provide better pay and a bunk of his own, and that his boss, Jubal Proffington, was going to instead sell out the entire group to the Empire, including the Aphelion crew, to make himself rich quick. After agreeing with Rawls on the terms of his employment, Ransom proceeded to display his frighteningly natural ability at killing people, which had been the source of his notoriety.
After killing the merc band, he used his intimate knowledge of the Empire to erase the Imperial bounty on the Aphelion and her crew, with exception of himself. It was this work, and a few jobs later, that he was solidly entrusted, as much as could be anyways, by Rawls. The crew took awhile to warm up to him, however, had they even done so yet. When he entered the ship for the first time, he was treated coldly and with mistrust. He still was, half the time. The only person to ever warm up to him was Doohan, and that was only ever temporary. Despite all of that, they were his family. His psychotic, dysfunctional, no-genetically-related family, and he would, contrary to popular belief, die for any one of them. It was this sentiment, that was utterly destroying him. He felt entirely responsible for Rawls' capture, and he was trying as hard as he could to bust him out. Trying to find out info, trying to get a group together to bust him out, since Doohan shot him down too about the crew itself busting him out. He couldn't get a thing done. All of his contacts either knew he was to hot to touch or considered him to have gone 'legitimate', which might as well have been a mark of death. As father told him, the merc circles wittily adopted the pirate term "the black spot" for meaning a steady job with good pay in which someone isn't always trying to kill you. He would be the first to argue otherwise, in regards to the Aphelion, but no one would listen.
During the time period since the arrest of Rawls, he rotated between working his contacts, and being locked away in the armory with his gun, alcohol, and cigars. At this moment, he was finishing upgrades to Tijana, his Mandalorian Disintegrator, following which he holstered on his chest; she was accompanied by Alla and Arina, his Model 434 DeathHammer Blaster Pistols, at his thighs. He walked out of the ship, the absence of anyone and the quiet not alerting him, as it had become a norm for the crew of late. What did alarm him was Vanden and Antares outside the ship, and a strange man coming up the ramp. In regards to his crewmates, his mind instantly raced to what could possibly be wrong and why they were out in the open; which, yes, even a private hangar was open to him at this point. In regards to the strange man, his mind tried to first associate him with a name, with no luck, then instantly to what kind of threat he was posing now. Despite the seemingly complex thought, this was all happening quickly, in the terms of nanoseconds, and after a second of being halted on the ramp, being an immovable object standing in between Taynor and entrance to the Aphelion, but unfortunately not in between him and Antares or Vanden, he pulled Tijana and aimed for the man. After a tense moment, his gruff, whiskey-and-cigar-scarred-voice spoke to him, "Who the hell are you, and what the frak do you want?".
Lafayette Leroy Jackson Ransom
Formerly "Public Relations" and Gunsmith of the Aphelion
Bounty Hunter and Mercenary
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