((And process a little more. Torn... offering him a drink.))
...
All right.
((Actually that sounds really damn nice, as suspicious as he is. With Even gone, Kage in Carnival, and things still cooling off between him and Christine, he'd felt... restless. Irritable. Bored.
Lonely?
Torn wasn't high on his list, but they had been friends once, and they were both KG. That counted for something.))
[As surprised as he is that there's no argument or questions, he's pretty sure he'll be getting them later in the evening. Better not bring them up and hope that he might forget to ask later.
Well...no, fat chance of that, too.]
Somewhere away from all the round-eared drunks.
[Call him racist or...species-ist, but Mother of Mar and damnation, if he's not getting sick of all the fucking aliens. Fuck their rock and the Precursors that built it.]
Hn. Oceanview'll be full of them, not to mention Whitecastle will slip Black Shade into my glass if he's got half a chance. Mojito's staffed by that damn girly-boy, damn if I'm putting up with his shit.
What about Sergei's on 09?
((Yeah, so he's done a lot of rounds on the ship out of boredom.))
((This was surreal. Almost like the past 10 years didn't happen.
Erol slinked his way up to Deck 9. He wasn't entirely sure that this wasn't a trick, that Torn wasn't going to spring something on him, take him to task for the Christine incident, but hell. Not like he had anything to lose at the moment.
He nodded in greeting, wary as to whether Torn was expecting the entire "Sir" business... if so, this was going to be a long night. That awkwardness lasted about three seconds before he tired of it.))
[He doesn't entirely know what he's looking for in this, but it's not any of the professional bullshit. It's...
Okay, it's friendship. Companionship. A kindred spirit who'll know exactly what he's talking about without any unneeded...crap. Explaining. Alienation. Alien opinions or history or...
Fuck this Mardamned boat.
And Erol's just blatant dismissal of all he doesn't want to deal with helps him relax. His shoulders drop and he actually sighs before setting right to that. He hands Erol a glass.]
((And Torn's sigh confirms to Erol that he did the right thing. Which is good, because he's in need of the exact same thing the Commander is.
Companionship. That of someone with the same background - class difference notwithstanding - was a bonus.
In Haven, they came from opposite worlds; here, they were more similar than anyone else on board. Two KG. A sore loser and ungracious winner, Erol was not inclined to be thankful for such circumstance, but the fact was still there, branded into their skin.))
Brandy if there is any. If there's only beer in stock, a good ale.
[The sentiment seems to be shared because the first brand that catches Torn's eye is opened and drained straight from the bottle. He comes back up for air with a sigh and thunks the liquor down closer to his glass and goes back to looking. It's all free, so he doesn't see a reason to stop with just one. The counter becomes cluttered with whatever he thinks could make the evening easier--rougher whatevers for himself and brandies and finer ales for Mr. Top-Rung.
When he gets bored with that, he leans against the bar, content to just stand and face his 'adversary'. He's not drunk enough to sit next to him like they're in a civil relationship.]
((Erol smirked into his glass. Nowhere near drunk yet, but starting to feel the buzz from studiously downing as much as possible while Torn was setting the bar.))
Well I don't know why I accepted, so that makes it even.
((That's a damn lie, he'd know if he really stopped to question and be honest with himself, but if there was one thing Erol never EVER did it was to stop. Always moving, always running... always fastest and always best. Or die trying.))
[And he still gets sick ON this tub, too. Kept him up all last night, actually.
After another long sip, he sighs and settles into a loose stance. The walls are coming down, and he's losing the ability to care about all the differences. They're kinda stupid right now. Why even bother?
Erol's not trying shit, so why should he even care?]
((Erol, never to be outdone, took a long draught himself. He'd situated himself easily at the bar, planning on getting drunk enough so that standing would be impractical.))
Ohhhh, no. I've been here five... five? Five working on six months. You couldn't possibly miss Haven more than I do.
((Everything IS a competition, thank you so much for asking. Still not drunk, but definitely more talkative.))
((Erol pronounced each syllable distinctly and patiently, his noble's accent coming out more under the influence.))
Hmph, who's to say what you should or should not be doing? We're unemployed. Guards with nothing to Mardamned guard, no laws to enforce, no one to answer to -
[Torn always missed work. Always needed work to feel...needed in the world. A right to existence.]
Jus'...it.
Y'know.
[Ugh, he's no good at description. Not unless he's pressured for it, anyways. After another half glass--good warm feeling from it--he nods to the other man.]
((Torn didn't miss work? The man was a workaholic. Erol might have asked if he was sick if the next question hadn't caught him off-guard. A look of unguarded surprise flitted across his features before his gaze turned inwards and he turned the question over in his mind like probing a sore tooth.
Erol closed his eyes. The longing went bone-deep, to his core. It actually hurt, somewhere between his sternum and his backbone, an ache of loss and need acute as any withdrawal.))
Racing.
((He gave the answer in a husky tone, then promptly tipped his cup and drank until it was bone-dry.))
[He gave a throaty noise that said he understood. As long as he knew Erol, racing had been his thing. It controlled his free time, bled into how he fought and planned, just...pretty much consumed everything. ]
When'd you start doin' that, anyways? We weren't...
[Squint at nothing, trying to think back past ingrained failures to the stupid fun shit he got into as a kid. The useless memories that stuck around just for the hell of it.]
((Okay, let him process this.))
...
((And process a little more. Torn... offering him a drink.))
...
All right.
((Actually that sounds really damn nice, as suspicious as he is. With Even gone, Kage in Carnival, and things still cooling off between him and Christine, he'd felt... restless. Irritable. Bored.
Lonely?
Torn wasn't high on his list, but they had been friends once, and they were both KG. That counted for something.))
Where to.
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Well...no, fat chance of that, too.]
Somewhere away from all the round-eared drunks.
[Call him racist or...species-ist, but Mother of Mar and damnation, if he's not getting sick of all the fucking aliens. Fuck their rock and the Precursors that built it.]
There's plenty'a bars, it's just finding one.
Any ideas?
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What about Sergei's on 09?
((Yeah, so he's done a lot of rounds on the ship out of boredom.))
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[And out he heads for Sergei's, hoping to high hell there's no one there to ask stupid questions or bother him with their own stupid, cushy world.]
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Erol slinked his way up to Deck 9. He wasn't entirely sure that this wasn't a trick, that Torn wasn't going to spring something on him, take him to task for the Christine incident, but hell. Not like he had anything to lose at the moment.
He nodded in greeting, wary as to whether Torn was expecting the entire "Sir" business... if so, this was going to be a long night. That awkwardness lasted about three seconds before he tired of it.))
Fuck it. Let's find the Mardamned alcohol.
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Okay, it's friendship. Companionship. A kindred spirit who'll know exactly what he's talking about without any unneeded...crap. Explaining. Alienation. Alien opinions or history or...
Fuck this Mardamned boat.
And Erol's just blatant dismissal of all he doesn't want to deal with helps him relax. His shoulders drop and he actually sighs before setting right to that. He hands Erol a glass.]
Whatd'ywant. I said I'd grab it.
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Companionship. That of someone with the same background - class difference notwithstanding - was a bonus.
In Haven, they came from opposite worlds; here, they were more similar than anyone else on board. Two KG. A sore loser and ungracious winner, Erol was not inclined to be thankful for such circumstance, but the fact was still there, branded into their skin.))
Brandy if there is any. If there's only beer in stock, a good ale.
((He could NOT socialize with Torn while sober.))
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When he gets bored with that, he leans against the bar, content to just stand and face his 'adversary'. He's not drunk enough to sit next to him like they're in a civil relationship.]
Dunno why I bothered, so no point askin'.
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Well I don't know why I accepted, so that makes it even.
((That's a damn lie, he'd know if he really stopped to question and be honest with himself, but if there was one thing Erol never EVER did it was to stop. Always moving, always running... always fastest and always best. Or die trying.))
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[And he still gets sick ON this tub, too. Kept him up all last night, actually.
After another long sip, he sighs and settles into a loose stance. The walls are coming down, and he's losing the ability to care about all the differences. They're kinda stupid right now. Why even bother?
Erol's not trying shit, so why should he even care?]
Miss the hellhole, y'know.
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Ohhhh, no. I've been here five... five? Five working on six months. You couldn't possibly miss Haven more than I do.
((Everything IS a competition, thank you so much for asking. Still not drunk, but definitely more talkative.))
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I don't give a Kangarat's ass if y'miss it more than me, Red. Can we have a conversation 'stead'a argument?
[And it's not like you have someone you love there.
He shakes his head.]
's not even shit I should be doin'. It's the place. Feel like a homesick kid.
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((Erol pronounced each syllable distinctly and patiently, his noble's accent coming out more under the influence.))
Hmph, who's to say what you should or should not be doing? We're unemployed. Guards with nothing to Mardamned guard, no laws to enforce, no one to answer to -
Well, there's you. But you know what I mean.
((Beer. Is. Delicious. The good stuff.))
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[Torn always missed work. Always needed work to feel...needed in the world. A right to existence.]
Jus'...it.
Y'know.
[Ugh, he's no good at description. Not unless he's pressured for it, anyways. After another half glass--good warm feeling from it--he nods to the other man.]
Whatcha miss?
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Erol closed his eyes. The longing went bone-deep, to his core. It actually hurt, somewhere between his sternum and his backbone, an ache of loss and need acute as any withdrawal.))
Racing.
((He gave the answer in a husky tone, then promptly tipped his cup and drank until it was bone-dry.))
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When'd you start doin' that, anyways? We weren't...
[Squint at nothing, trying to think back past ingrained failures to the stupid fun shit he got into as a kid. The useless memories that stuck around just for the hell of it.]
Weren't in basic, right.
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