Post by The Wake Angels on Jan 13, 2018 16:10:19 GMT 10
The inside of the pilots’ quarters on the average space station are nothing special to look at. As they mostly see use as temporary lodging for exhausted escorts to catch a few hours of sleep in between runs, they are generally kept clean and neat enough that the word “spartan” does not quite do them justice. Bare walls, simple furnishings, and a kitchen that resembles a pantry with a hot plate.
Nonetheless, a bit of reputation can go a long way in securing some simple luxuries. In this case, recognition has bought a rather comfortable chair, well cushioned and adjustable. Quite the upgrade from the bare stools and kneeling cushions that would otherwise be available, and Moto Ariel takes full advantage of this small comfort. Though “night” is a somewhat subjective term for those that spend their lives travelling the empty space between worlds, the gentle green glow of the atomic clock on the other side of the room proclaims it to be some hours until dawn on the homeworld. Indeed, the clock is the only source of light in the room, save for the warm orange of the datapad that he reads, his skin almost cast bronze in the unnatural glow. Though he knows the habit is bad, he doesn’t bother to command the lights for the boxy room that passes for a dining and living space, instead sinking into the chair and reading his novel by the electric glare.
He takes off his glasses for a brief moment to clean the debris of the day from them on a corner of the simple bathrobe that serves to cover his form. If only just. The guest robes, like so much in these backwater stations, are “one size fits all,” and that size is generally small. As such, the cloth makes a valiant attempt, but not even the space-age materials can overcome the reality that he is simply larger than whoever “all” was apparently modeled after. He breathes on his lenses to fog them, then cleans them once more and returns to his novel. Or he would, had the clattering and clicking of the I.D. reader in poor repair announce the presence of someone at the door.
He is pushing himself out of the chair when the atonal beep announces the surrender of the suffering hardware to the guest, and the door slides open. Shinjo Ketaan attempts to walk into the room with his usual easy grace, but the combination of years of microgravity and clear present intoxication work against him to obvious effect. Nonetheless, he manages to catch himself on the edge of the small table before he falls completely.
“Well hey there, good looking,” he slurs out, pushing himself straight with a sloppy grin. “Come here often?”
“Ketaan. It is late. And you are drunk,” Ariel observes, sitting back down in the chair. There is no judgment, no malice behind his words, but they do hold a slight note of concern. Not enough that he feels he needs to rise, clearly, but enough that a casual observer might easily interpret the care he holds for his friend and lover.
“Plastered,” Ketaan agrees, making his way carefully over to the pantry. He turns to open one of the cabinets, and as he does, one of the ear pieces of his headphones falls free, dangling from its plastic band by a few strands of loose wire. When he turns back, he is holding one of the simple steel containers of strong sake that the station provides, a pleasantry only available due to the backwater putting on airs of being civilized. “But rapidly sobering, and we can’t have that. Too quiet. Got to turn up the volume, tune in to tune out, hmm hmm…”
“Plenty loud, I think,” The wry and tired voice of Koshuud Tai-Wen announcing her consciousness. She pushes the covers off her body, leisurely rolling out of the sad little bed. Her feet have barely touched the floor when she pulls back with a hiss at the cold. She probes experimentally in the dark for a moment, before sighing and and tapping the fingers of her non-gloved hand on her palm in a quick pattern, waking up the holo-tool projectors that stick to her arm. She spins the green display to be a circle on her palm, then uses the projected light to find her slippers. Having located and equipped , she walks the few steps to the closet, and selects a robe that fits her little better than it does her husband, tying it casually about her waist. “I take it your night has been eventful?”
“Has it?” Ketaan asks rhetorically, unscrewing the cap of the metal container, releasing the scent of the potent wine into the room. He sets out three small cups, and begins to pour for them. “I went to the bar.”
“Never would have guessed,” Tai-Wen offers with a yawn. She walks over to the comfortable chair, gives her husband a quick kiss, and then circles to the other side of the table, turning the lights on dim as she does. The old vacuum tubes are slow to respond to the gesture of the fluid metal gauntlet that sheathes her right arm, but the flicker to life and fill the apartment with illumination.
“Oh, hush, hush. There were some pilots there. Not fighters, not a starjockey among them. But fortunes, could they drink. And there was one, skin like milk, hair dyed as white as a Crane!” Ketaan’s eyes light up as he lifts his cup in reverence. “Stiff as a board until the wine flowed, deliciously fluid afterwards.”
Ariel rises from his seat to join the others at the table, listening to Ketaan ramble on. As he takes his seat, he does not reach for his cup, but rather watches the inebriated pilot, taking note of the forced edge of his merriment, the strain in the edges of his mouth from the smile. A sad, not-quite-frown begins to crease his face as he puts what happened together.
“He suggested we share a geisha,” Ketaan begins to brag, “But of course there’s nothing so refined to be found out here, so I introduced him to Azalea. Poor little bird didn’t know how to react, probably his first time out here...”
“And you set ‘Zal on him?” Tai-Wen pipes in, clearly amused despite her fatigue at having been woken up. “Bet she ate him alive. How is she these days?”
“It’s ‘Zal. She never changes. Now stop, I’m the one telling this story,” Ketaan’s reproach has no edge to it. Indeed, very little about Ketaan has edges to it at the moment. Enough potent poisons have been imbibed that, as far as he is concerned, everything is pleasantly fuzzy. “Anyway, Azalea had a laugh at the idea of us sharing her. After we under the little bird’s armour, the two of them ended up sharing me! Nothing like a good tumble to remind a body the worth of stepping stationside, I always say, and I am well reminded…”
“And this?” Ariel reaches out a hand to brush the dangling, damaged headphone. It takes Tai-Wen a brief moment, using her metallic hand to rub sleep from her eyes, to realize what Ariel is referring to. As she does, her mood sharply turns from bemusement to worry.
“What, that?” Ketaan’s voice cracks ever so slightly from the effort of maintaining his facade. “Who can say? Things get a bit heated, limbs and clothes flying about,”
“Never those though,” Tai-Wen cuts in sharply, her voice taught with a mix of emotion. “You’re not nearly drunk enough to forget we know that.”
“Tai-Wen, my love, you’re worrying too much!” The strain in Ketaan’s voice is no longer hiding, and his face begins to fall as the effort of retaining his mask becomes too cumbersome. “I’m fine, it’s alright…”
“It’s not. It never is,” Ariel states, his even and controlled tones in sharp contrast to his friends and the open books of their manner.
“But…”
“Dumbass. You’re hurting. Your head’s turned screwwise. We see it. You know it,” Tai-Wen spits out. “Let us help you.”
Her inconsiderate words are the final straw, as they so often are. What the direct approach may lack in grace, it makes up with a blunt force, the sort of force that shatters masks and barriers alike. For the briefest of moments, Ketaan’s smile widens, and he lets out a gasping chuckle as the first tears escape his eyes. The metallic shine of his own gauntlet serves as a brief shield as the lights flicker, and he quickly uses the sleeve of his flight suit to wipe those first liquid tells away. He sets down the cup, undrunk, and lowers his head to the table, wrapping his arms tight around himself.
“It happened again, didn’t it?” Ariel says softly, reaching the arm without a metal sheath over to place a hand on Ketaan’s shoulder.
“I couldn’t stop it,” The whisper comes in between short, choking gasps, some of them having the barest hint of a manic giggle, all muffled by the direction of his voice. “Don’t know when. Must have been an accident. But when they fell asleep… I noticed. I always do. It’s always there. The quiet. Even here. I couldn’t breathe. It happened just like before.”
“Go on. Let it out. We’ll keep talking if you go clampshut,” Tai-Wen’s flesh-and-blood hand joins Ariel’s in comforting the sobbing pilot.
“Had to get out,” Ketaan’s voice rises ever so slightly in response to the touches. “Couldn’t breathe. Still had some wine left. Drank it. Took the edge off. Went for more. It helped. But it was always there.” His gloved hand unwinds itself from his skinny form, and peels off the ruined headphones, pushing them onto the table. “Tried to fix it. Too drunk. Too clumsy. Just made things worse. So I drank more. Then the bar closed.”
“And then you came home,” Tai-Wen speaks with the certainty of one who is confident in their analysis of a problem. A confidence not misplaced, as Ketaan raises his head just enough to nod a few times. She takes her hand from his shoulder and turns from the table, her right, gloved hand claiming the broken tech from the table as she does. The light on her holo-tool flares to life once more, and she walks to the small desk by the bed that completes the apartment’s furnishing, flicking through settings on the hard-light display as she does.
“Was getting worse. Had nothing to drink. Didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“That’s because you’re not thinking right-thinking. Never are like this,” Tai-Wen says from across the room, clattering about with a small pouch of microtools.
“We’re always here for you, Ketaan. That’s not going to change, just because some bad luck happened to hit,” Standing up from the table, Ariel reaches across the inadequate surface and draws Ketaan up to face him, revealing the reddened eyes hidden behind a mop of silver-streaked hair. “You’re still the same cocksure ace we went to school with. I’m still the gawky nerd with my books. Tai-Wen…”
“Is still fucking perfect!” The engineer’s voice rings from across the small space, drawing a short laugh from both of the men at the table. Ariel looks up from his chuckle to once more meet the gaze of the pilot, big brown eyes full of kindness.
“We love you. And we’re not giving up on you because you had a bad day. Even if we have to pluck you out of the stars. Again.”
Ketaan tries to form a response, but only manages a choking noise and falls forward to hug Ariel, who quickly moves the two of them away from the table. Supported by the large man, Ketaan allows himself to be led to the comfortable chair, and set down amid his gasping sobs. Ariel adjusts the cushions for Ketaan’s comfort, and then pulls over one of the stools to sit by the chair.
It begins as a low, thrumming drone from the depths of his throat, before forming into words in the ancient Unicorn dialect of High Rokugani. The harmonic overtones vibrate through the small space, covering the subtle hiss of Tai-Wen’s soldering torch, though they can do naught about the slightly acrid scent of the heated wire. Ariel sings to Ketaan, to his wife, to the three of them as one, and gradually Ketaan’s breathing evens, quieting as he is lulled by drink and comfort into something approaching a peaceful sleep.
It takes a few more minutes for the polymers Tai-Wen has applied to set and cool, and Ariel continues his throat-singing the whole while, pausing only to catch his breath and drink a glass of water. Through it all Ketaan falls deeper into slumber, until Tai-Wen crosses the room and slides the newly repaired headphones back over his ears. There is an almost imperceptible beep as the device is recognized by his pad, and faint strains of the strange electronic music he favors filters out as a small, innocent smile creeps across his slumbering face.
Ariel continues singing until his song comes to an end, then reaches over and hugs his wife close. They share a tender kiss, then Tai-Wen nods towards the bed.
“Come on, my loves. It’s late, and I’ve got maintenance to run in the morning. To bed. For real this time, no reading.”
“Yes love,” Ariel says with a smile. He reaches over the comfortable chair to slide his arms under the sleeping pilot, who offers only token protest in a half awake mumble. Ariel lifts the skinny man with ease, kissing him gently on the forehead, and crosses the small flat to lay him on the bed. A louder protest instantly comes as Tai-Wen’s icy toes latch onto the new source of heat in the bed, but Ketaan is too tired to wake fully.
“Put out the light before you come to bed.”
“Of course, my wife.”
A brief, pointed gesture is met with a moment of lag as the aging station hardware struggles to recognize the command, but the lights do fade out. As he removes his robe and makes for the bed himself, Ariel briefly glances over at the table, where the three cups undrunk still sit, barely visible in the remaining light. He comes to a decision, and lightly snaps the fingers of his left hand, provoking a whisper of magic that darts across the room. While not truly strong enough to flash, the raw and unrefined drink still catches, a steady light-blue flame from the three makeshift candles puffing into life.
“Showoff,” The voices of the two in the bed murmur in unison, provoking a light chuckle from the priest. Ariel joins his true loves in the bed, his long arms embracing both close to him. As it so often does, his mind whirls too fast to allow sleep for some time, but his imaginings are peaceful with the two people he cares about most in his arms. The flames burn low when his eyelids finally flutter shut, and his last imagining before slumber claims him is of a world far from here, on steppes he has never seen, where the three of them watch the rising sun.
Nonetheless, a bit of reputation can go a long way in securing some simple luxuries. In this case, recognition has bought a rather comfortable chair, well cushioned and adjustable. Quite the upgrade from the bare stools and kneeling cushions that would otherwise be available, and Moto Ariel takes full advantage of this small comfort. Though “night” is a somewhat subjective term for those that spend their lives travelling the empty space between worlds, the gentle green glow of the atomic clock on the other side of the room proclaims it to be some hours until dawn on the homeworld. Indeed, the clock is the only source of light in the room, save for the warm orange of the datapad that he reads, his skin almost cast bronze in the unnatural glow. Though he knows the habit is bad, he doesn’t bother to command the lights for the boxy room that passes for a dining and living space, instead sinking into the chair and reading his novel by the electric glare.
He takes off his glasses for a brief moment to clean the debris of the day from them on a corner of the simple bathrobe that serves to cover his form. If only just. The guest robes, like so much in these backwater stations, are “one size fits all,” and that size is generally small. As such, the cloth makes a valiant attempt, but not even the space-age materials can overcome the reality that he is simply larger than whoever “all” was apparently modeled after. He breathes on his lenses to fog them, then cleans them once more and returns to his novel. Or he would, had the clattering and clicking of the I.D. reader in poor repair announce the presence of someone at the door.
He is pushing himself out of the chair when the atonal beep announces the surrender of the suffering hardware to the guest, and the door slides open. Shinjo Ketaan attempts to walk into the room with his usual easy grace, but the combination of years of microgravity and clear present intoxication work against him to obvious effect. Nonetheless, he manages to catch himself on the edge of the small table before he falls completely.
“Well hey there, good looking,” he slurs out, pushing himself straight with a sloppy grin. “Come here often?”
“Ketaan. It is late. And you are drunk,” Ariel observes, sitting back down in the chair. There is no judgment, no malice behind his words, but they do hold a slight note of concern. Not enough that he feels he needs to rise, clearly, but enough that a casual observer might easily interpret the care he holds for his friend and lover.
“Plastered,” Ketaan agrees, making his way carefully over to the pantry. He turns to open one of the cabinets, and as he does, one of the ear pieces of his headphones falls free, dangling from its plastic band by a few strands of loose wire. When he turns back, he is holding one of the simple steel containers of strong sake that the station provides, a pleasantry only available due to the backwater putting on airs of being civilized. “But rapidly sobering, and we can’t have that. Too quiet. Got to turn up the volume, tune in to tune out, hmm hmm…”
“Plenty loud, I think,” The wry and tired voice of Koshuud Tai-Wen announcing her consciousness. She pushes the covers off her body, leisurely rolling out of the sad little bed. Her feet have barely touched the floor when she pulls back with a hiss at the cold. She probes experimentally in the dark for a moment, before sighing and and tapping the fingers of her non-gloved hand on her palm in a quick pattern, waking up the holo-tool projectors that stick to her arm. She spins the green display to be a circle on her palm, then uses the projected light to find her slippers. Having located and equipped , she walks the few steps to the closet, and selects a robe that fits her little better than it does her husband, tying it casually about her waist. “I take it your night has been eventful?”
“Has it?” Ketaan asks rhetorically, unscrewing the cap of the metal container, releasing the scent of the potent wine into the room. He sets out three small cups, and begins to pour for them. “I went to the bar.”
“Never would have guessed,” Tai-Wen offers with a yawn. She walks over to the comfortable chair, gives her husband a quick kiss, and then circles to the other side of the table, turning the lights on dim as she does. The old vacuum tubes are slow to respond to the gesture of the fluid metal gauntlet that sheathes her right arm, but the flicker to life and fill the apartment with illumination.
“Oh, hush, hush. There were some pilots there. Not fighters, not a starjockey among them. But fortunes, could they drink. And there was one, skin like milk, hair dyed as white as a Crane!” Ketaan’s eyes light up as he lifts his cup in reverence. “Stiff as a board until the wine flowed, deliciously fluid afterwards.”
Ariel rises from his seat to join the others at the table, listening to Ketaan ramble on. As he takes his seat, he does not reach for his cup, but rather watches the inebriated pilot, taking note of the forced edge of his merriment, the strain in the edges of his mouth from the smile. A sad, not-quite-frown begins to crease his face as he puts what happened together.
“He suggested we share a geisha,” Ketaan begins to brag, “But of course there’s nothing so refined to be found out here, so I introduced him to Azalea. Poor little bird didn’t know how to react, probably his first time out here...”
“And you set ‘Zal on him?” Tai-Wen pipes in, clearly amused despite her fatigue at having been woken up. “Bet she ate him alive. How is she these days?”
“It’s ‘Zal. She never changes. Now stop, I’m the one telling this story,” Ketaan’s reproach has no edge to it. Indeed, very little about Ketaan has edges to it at the moment. Enough potent poisons have been imbibed that, as far as he is concerned, everything is pleasantly fuzzy. “Anyway, Azalea had a laugh at the idea of us sharing her. After we under the little bird’s armour, the two of them ended up sharing me! Nothing like a good tumble to remind a body the worth of stepping stationside, I always say, and I am well reminded…”
“And this?” Ariel reaches out a hand to brush the dangling, damaged headphone. It takes Tai-Wen a brief moment, using her metallic hand to rub sleep from her eyes, to realize what Ariel is referring to. As she does, her mood sharply turns from bemusement to worry.
“What, that?” Ketaan’s voice cracks ever so slightly from the effort of maintaining his facade. “Who can say? Things get a bit heated, limbs and clothes flying about,”
“Never those though,” Tai-Wen cuts in sharply, her voice taught with a mix of emotion. “You’re not nearly drunk enough to forget we know that.”
“Tai-Wen, my love, you’re worrying too much!” The strain in Ketaan’s voice is no longer hiding, and his face begins to fall as the effort of retaining his mask becomes too cumbersome. “I’m fine, it’s alright…”
“It’s not. It never is,” Ariel states, his even and controlled tones in sharp contrast to his friends and the open books of their manner.
“But…”
“Dumbass. You’re hurting. Your head’s turned screwwise. We see it. You know it,” Tai-Wen spits out. “Let us help you.”
Her inconsiderate words are the final straw, as they so often are. What the direct approach may lack in grace, it makes up with a blunt force, the sort of force that shatters masks and barriers alike. For the briefest of moments, Ketaan’s smile widens, and he lets out a gasping chuckle as the first tears escape his eyes. The metallic shine of his own gauntlet serves as a brief shield as the lights flicker, and he quickly uses the sleeve of his flight suit to wipe those first liquid tells away. He sets down the cup, undrunk, and lowers his head to the table, wrapping his arms tight around himself.
“It happened again, didn’t it?” Ariel says softly, reaching the arm without a metal sheath over to place a hand on Ketaan’s shoulder.
“I couldn’t stop it,” The whisper comes in between short, choking gasps, some of them having the barest hint of a manic giggle, all muffled by the direction of his voice. “Don’t know when. Must have been an accident. But when they fell asleep… I noticed. I always do. It’s always there. The quiet. Even here. I couldn’t breathe. It happened just like before.”
“Go on. Let it out. We’ll keep talking if you go clampshut,” Tai-Wen’s flesh-and-blood hand joins Ariel’s in comforting the sobbing pilot.
“Had to get out,” Ketaan’s voice rises ever so slightly in response to the touches. “Couldn’t breathe. Still had some wine left. Drank it. Took the edge off. Went for more. It helped. But it was always there.” His gloved hand unwinds itself from his skinny form, and peels off the ruined headphones, pushing them onto the table. “Tried to fix it. Too drunk. Too clumsy. Just made things worse. So I drank more. Then the bar closed.”
“And then you came home,” Tai-Wen speaks with the certainty of one who is confident in their analysis of a problem. A confidence not misplaced, as Ketaan raises his head just enough to nod a few times. She takes her hand from his shoulder and turns from the table, her right, gloved hand claiming the broken tech from the table as she does. The light on her holo-tool flares to life once more, and she walks to the small desk by the bed that completes the apartment’s furnishing, flicking through settings on the hard-light display as she does.
“Was getting worse. Had nothing to drink. Didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“That’s because you’re not thinking right-thinking. Never are like this,” Tai-Wen says from across the room, clattering about with a small pouch of microtools.
“We’re always here for you, Ketaan. That’s not going to change, just because some bad luck happened to hit,” Standing up from the table, Ariel reaches across the inadequate surface and draws Ketaan up to face him, revealing the reddened eyes hidden behind a mop of silver-streaked hair. “You’re still the same cocksure ace we went to school with. I’m still the gawky nerd with my books. Tai-Wen…”
“Is still fucking perfect!” The engineer’s voice rings from across the small space, drawing a short laugh from both of the men at the table. Ariel looks up from his chuckle to once more meet the gaze of the pilot, big brown eyes full of kindness.
“We love you. And we’re not giving up on you because you had a bad day. Even if we have to pluck you out of the stars. Again.”
Ketaan tries to form a response, but only manages a choking noise and falls forward to hug Ariel, who quickly moves the two of them away from the table. Supported by the large man, Ketaan allows himself to be led to the comfortable chair, and set down amid his gasping sobs. Ariel adjusts the cushions for Ketaan’s comfort, and then pulls over one of the stools to sit by the chair.
It begins as a low, thrumming drone from the depths of his throat, before forming into words in the ancient Unicorn dialect of High Rokugani. The harmonic overtones vibrate through the small space, covering the subtle hiss of Tai-Wen’s soldering torch, though they can do naught about the slightly acrid scent of the heated wire. Ariel sings to Ketaan, to his wife, to the three of them as one, and gradually Ketaan’s breathing evens, quieting as he is lulled by drink and comfort into something approaching a peaceful sleep.
It takes a few more minutes for the polymers Tai-Wen has applied to set and cool, and Ariel continues his throat-singing the whole while, pausing only to catch his breath and drink a glass of water. Through it all Ketaan falls deeper into slumber, until Tai-Wen crosses the room and slides the newly repaired headphones back over his ears. There is an almost imperceptible beep as the device is recognized by his pad, and faint strains of the strange electronic music he favors filters out as a small, innocent smile creeps across his slumbering face.
Ariel continues singing until his song comes to an end, then reaches over and hugs his wife close. They share a tender kiss, then Tai-Wen nods towards the bed.
“Come on, my loves. It’s late, and I’ve got maintenance to run in the morning. To bed. For real this time, no reading.”
“Yes love,” Ariel says with a smile. He reaches over the comfortable chair to slide his arms under the sleeping pilot, who offers only token protest in a half awake mumble. Ariel lifts the skinny man with ease, kissing him gently on the forehead, and crosses the small flat to lay him on the bed. A louder protest instantly comes as Tai-Wen’s icy toes latch onto the new source of heat in the bed, but Ketaan is too tired to wake fully.
“Put out the light before you come to bed.”
“Of course, my wife.”
A brief, pointed gesture is met with a moment of lag as the aging station hardware struggles to recognize the command, but the lights do fade out. As he removes his robe and makes for the bed himself, Ariel briefly glances over at the table, where the three cups undrunk still sit, barely visible in the remaining light. He comes to a decision, and lightly snaps the fingers of his left hand, provoking a whisper of magic that darts across the room. While not truly strong enough to flash, the raw and unrefined drink still catches, a steady light-blue flame from the three makeshift candles puffing into life.
“Showoff,” The voices of the two in the bed murmur in unison, provoking a light chuckle from the priest. Ariel joins his true loves in the bed, his long arms embracing both close to him. As it so often does, his mind whirls too fast to allow sleep for some time, but his imaginings are peaceful with the two people he cares about most in his arms. The flames burn low when his eyelids finally flutter shut, and his last imagining before slumber claims him is of a world far from here, on steppes he has never seen, where the three of them watch the rising sun.
