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Post by Nomz on Nov 11, 2024 21:32:05 GMT
Ports are, perhaps, Elio's favorite place in all of space and time combined. The chaos of so many different walks of life converging as they go about the tasks that have brought them out from their ships fills him with joy. This is reflected in the twist to his lips- too kind to be called a smirk. He tosses a fruit from one hand to the other as he ducks around a group of salvagers and heads to the nearest pub. While Elio knows he's had this particular fruit on the backwoods of some planet or another, the name just escapes him.
"Silas, do you remember when we had to make an emergency landing on that one planet with the pale blue trees with yellow leaves? The locals came out to help us and that leader's partner wanted you to stay to be their partner instead? They had this fruit there, but I can't remember what it was called." Helios turns on his heel mid-step to face Silas and he tosses over the little purple and white fruit, his ring glinting in the midday sun. The colors on the peel merge like paint that hasn't been stirred enough. "Better question, do you remember if the peel is edible?"
He watches his partner, waiting for a response even as he continues to walk backward a few steps.
"Also, are you ready? Today is the day we finally get off this planet. I can just feel it." Elio turns again just in time to duck under the extender arm of a rather insistent person peddling wares that look suspiciously like stolen weaponry. The hastily scratched-out brand name is the biggest tell. It never occurs to the human to ensure that Silas is still with him. He's never sure who is more attached to the other's hip, but he knows he wouldn't change a thing. He wouldn't trade Silas for anything. "Mm. I think they'll want your skills more this time. Call it a good feeling. We'll come across some poor chap with a terribly ill-equipped ship. We introduce you and get signed on. Easy peasy."
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Post by Countess on Nov 12, 2024 0:14:44 GMT
Ports are, perhaps, Silas' least favorite place in all of space and time combined. Bounty hunters abound, and there is quite the price on his head. There is a chaos to a port that he can track just s smidge enough to get by, but not enough to call these places comfortable. Sure, if he has credits, he can rent a bed and a warmer to keep him company, but he doesn't have that right now. Instead, he has Elio and his own wariness to keep him occupied. Silas watches his partner toss the fruit from hand to hand, his eyes flicking to the bustling crowds that fill the port around them. It’s a familiar scene—people from all corners of the galaxy, each with their own business, their own goals, and their own secrets. The hum of commerce fills the air, the occasional shout of a vendor or the clatter of cargo being shifted. For some, this is a paradise of opportunity. For Silas, it’s just another place to blend in, get what they need, and get out.
He catches the fruit without breaking stride, giving it a once-over, his fingers tracing the smooth skin. When Elio mentions the pale blue trees with yellow leaves, Silas smirks under his breath. Liros-3. Yeah, he remembers.
Silas doesn't answer Elio immediately, letting him get all of his words out before he says anything. He definitely remembers those people, that planet, but he doesn't care. It is the past, a place he will not go again, and the lessons he learned were inconsequential. What he did carry forth, however, was the name of the lovely fruit Elio liked do much. "Vithi. Peel it, spit out the seeds," he answers. "They give you the shits if you don't," he says, crass and direct as always. As he answers, he is scanning the crowd, looking for threats and opportunities. They come in disproportionate measures, he has found.
“That planet was a dump,” he mutters, his tone dry, not really agreeing with Elio’s fondness for the place. He adjusts the bag on his shoulder, and with a practiced flick of his wrist, peels back the fruit’s skin. It doesn’t feel quite right, and the smell is… off, like the last time they landed on a planet with overripe fruit that made him regret not trusting his gut. “Liros-3, though. You remember that partner of theirs? I wasn’t sticking around for their ‘special offer.’ I’ve got enough problems without being someone’s next project,” he says, scowling. The fruit’s peel comes off in one clean motion, and Silas examines it, pressing his thumb against the soft flesh. “Don’t eat that peel, Elio. Some of those fruits are toxic unless you get it just right. And knowing you, you’d eat it anyway.”
He doesn’t wait for Elio’s usual smile or protest. Instead, he throws the peeled fruit back toward him, not caring if it’s perfectly aimed or if it bounces off his partner’s chest. He’s already back in motion, his boots clicking on the metal ground as they weave through the crowd.
Ah. Another of Elio's "feelings". How many times has he said this same thing, and nothing came of it? Silas doesn't count, anyways, so he supposes it doesn't matter. Silas just grunts in response. “I’m ready,” he says, though the words are more a formality than anything. He’s always ready—always prepared to get the job done, whatever that means today. But Elio’s optimism... that’s something else. Silas isn’t sure how it hasn’t burned him out by now. “'Good feeling,’ huh? I’m not sure I share that. Last time we thought we’d hit the jackpot, we ended up fixing up a rickety ship for a bunch of smugglers who couldn’t tell an airlock from a fuel port.”
He watches Elio dodge the peddler hawking stolen weaponry with an ease that comes from being used to this—the grift, the hustle. That’s the thing about Elio: he never has to ask Silas to stay close. It’s just... understood. Some things don’t need to be said.
"Yeah, sure. 'Easy peasy,'" he mutters under his breath, but he’s already in motion. They’re headed for the nearest pub, and while Silas doesn't particularly care for drinking or being caught in some low-end barfight, he knows the drill. Stay in the game. Stay close to Elio. Get out when it’s time.
And somewhere, deep down, he knows the day might actually be different. They might actually be getting out of here.
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Post by Nomz on Nov 12, 2024 3:25:05 GMT
Elio grins a silly, lopsided smile despite his partner's crass reply. It is familiar. Expected even. In a universe that is always slightly to the left, there is a comfort he finds in knowing that this one thing will remain true. He knows he can turn to Silas when he needs something that feels like home, even if the big guy might not know it.
He catches the vithi with ease, swallowing his smile and protest in equal measure. Elio tucks his fondness into the tender flesh of the fruit, enjoying the way the juice spills over his tongue. It does its job of silencing the ever hopeful man and he watches where he walks. The pub, they know from experience, is not far from where they are.
A bright, happy bark of laughter escapes him at Silas's comment, the back of his hand coming up to wipe juice and fruit from his chin. "In all fairness," and this is just another part of their familiar banter. Elio always starts with this line. "They seemed really smart while we were still in port. If I remember correctly, you were the one who stood by and watched them flood their airlock with fuel. Then, you had the nerve to give me that look."
He steps a fraction closer to his partner to avoid hip-checking a shorter person carrying a basket of cloth. Elio does his best to pull a deadpan expression with just a slight twist of exasperation as he steps out of reach again. "And told me that it was somehow all my fault." He shrugs with a familiar grin, tearing off a piece of the vithi and holding it out to Silas. It doesn't quite count as a peace offering, but he also knows the man won't waste food.
The bar is louder and rowdier than the rest of the port as patrons slip in and out the open doors. A little of that playfulness of Elio's fades for something resting on the other side of mischief. All they need is a ride on a ship that won't instantly fall apart. Totally doable. The sound of his boots on the worn floor are drowned out entirely as they enter.
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Post by Countess on Nov 12, 2024 4:02:30 GMT
Silas doesn’t dare turn down the food. He knows, truly, what it is to be hungry. His eyes are still scanning the crowd, still sharp as ever, despite the usual back-and-forth with Elio. He takes a moment to glance at the fruit in his hand, inspecting it more for substance than for any real enjoyment, before popping it into his mouth. He chews once, twice, and then deliberately spits out the seeds, swallowing without a word. His attention lingers on the subtle details of the port, the ebb and flow of people—a sight he knows too well.
Elio’s laughter cuts through the noise, a bright sound that almost makes Silas crack a smile, though it’s fleeting. He’s used to it by now. That easy joy Elio carries, even in the worst of times, is one of the things Silas would never outright admit he’s fond of, but there's something about it—something about him—that makes Silas want to stay close. Even if it’s only because there’s a ridiculous hopefulness in it that Silas can’t quite bring himself to let go of.
He meets Elio's deadpan expression with a brief flash of annoyance. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters, his tone gruff but not unkind. "You think I don’t know how it went down? Can’t believe you trusted them at all. It’s a wonder we didn’t end up dead in the first place." Elio, in his own way, tries to make peace with the little things. Silas has stopped questioning it.
They move through the crowded pub doors, and Silas shifts his weight, scanning the room with ease as they step inside. The scent of spilled drinks, unwashed patrons, and cheap food fills the air. It’s a welcome familiarity, but it still puts him on edge. His hand instinctively reaches for the space at his waist where his gun usually rests, though he knows better than to have it on him in places like this. At least- not there, on his hip. Pageantry, all of it. Anyone paying attention will see he is used to it... and a fighter. It might scare off some. The hidden gun at his back is for... emergencies.
The chaos of the place is overwhelming, a mixture of too many voices, clinking mugs, and laughter that seems far too loud for the narrow space. He lets Elio take the lead, but he stays close—always close. Silas can’t shake the feeling that today will be different, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he crosses his arms and stands still, a figure carved from stone, as his eyes settle on the various characters populating the room.
"Let’s just get to it," Silas mutters low, mostly to himself, as he follows Elio toward the bar. He catches the glance of a few wary eyes—the kind of people who’ve been around long enough to recognize a fellow survivor. “And remember, I’m the one who gets us out of trouble, not the other way around.”
A few more steps and they’re at the counter. Silas drops onto a barstool with the kind of practiced ease only someone who has done this thousands of times can manage. He doesn’t care to look back at Elio, but he can feel that same undercurrent of anticipation swirling in the air. It’s too bad Elio's optimism doesn't always match up with the reality Silas has come to know so well. He might give in to a few of Elio’s hopeful schemes, but Silas knows better than to trust in easy solutions.
"Now, if you want your ‘good feeling’ to pay off,” Silas mutters under his breath, “maybe we should start by asking around for jobs. Best bet would be a crew that doesn’t mind picking up the slack. Or, a crew that needs someone like me,” Silas says. He glances over at the bartender, still sizing up the room. He doesn’t expect this job to be easy, but then again, when is it ever?
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Post by Nomz on Nov 13, 2024 5:48:23 GMT
There is a warm little smile that he keeps to himself when Silas takes the offered food. He knew he would. He knows he has. He knows he will continue to do so and each time will make Elio happy without fail.
His eyes dart across the many bodies and faces in the pub, taking note of anyone newer than new and anyone who looks like they may be looking or needing help. After so long, this is just their routine. One day, he'll get a ship just for them so that Silas can fly where his heart leads him. Or his logic, whichever wins out first.
Elio leads the way to the bar itself, mindful not to get too close to anyone as he does so. While he's never mentioned it outright, he prefers not to be touched unexpectedly. It is different when he is in his blue form and healing or helping. When he's just Elio it makes his skin crawl and the space he's in feels too small. He's grateful that Silas isn't the touchy-feely type, but he also knows the man wouldn't do that to him.
"Yes, I know. I put us in trouble and you get us out," he responded with a little shrug. Elio's 'devil-may-cry' attitude to his own life and well-being usually kicks in at the worst possible moments. The amount of times that Silas has been his saving grace far outnumbers the amount of times Elio has saved them. "I don't know where I would be without you."
The bar is cold and a touch sticky as Elio sits with Silas, picking at his fruit in thought as he listens.
"I think nearly every crew needs someone like you, but I see your point." He hums in thought, glancing further up the bar looking for that telltale sign of desperation. "We can always market my skills as well. A doctor goes a long way in the depths of space where the only thing keeping you from becoming stardust is a scalpel and a steady hand."
Blue eyes raise to meet Silas' and his tone is low, "Big crew or little crew?"
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Post by Countess on Nov 14, 2024 15:47:23 GMT
Silas leans forward, resting his elbows on the bar as his eyes flicker across the room, his expression unreadable. He chews on Elio’s words for a moment, considering their options. There’s no shortage of desperate faces here, but desperation alone doesn’t make a good crew. He’s looking for something more... experience, resilience, or at least a willingness to follow orders without asking too many questions.
He grunts softly. “Big crew’s got resources, sure. More people means more hands, but it also means more mouths to feed, more egos to manage, and more chances for someone to screw up,” he says, explaining his thoughts. Silas wouldn't do this for anyone- just Elio. He taps a finger idly on the bar, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Small crew’s easier to manage. Tight-knit, less bureaucracy. But that also means more work for us, and if one person goes down, the whole ship feels it."
He finally meets Elio’s gaze, his voice low and measured. “We’re not exactly in a position to be picky, but if it’s up to me? Small crew. Easier to slip away if things go south. Fewer people to stab you in the back.”
Silas shifts his weight, his gaze cutting back to the bartender, who’s busy wiping down glasses with a rag that looks older than some of the ships docked outside. “Let’s see who’s looking. If we’re lucky, they’ll need a medic and someone who can keep the ship running without asking too many questions.”
He pauses, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And if they don’t know they need us yet... well, we’ll convince them.”
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Post by Beriadan on Nov 14, 2024 16:06:10 GMT
"Oi, Landlord, g'is a shot o' whatever's cheap 'n' strong, aye? My ship's leavin' soon, an' I'll be fucked if I'm doin' another takeoff sober."
Neva strode through the door as if she owned the joint, leaning against the bar and surveying the clientele with a sour expression. What a dump of a spaceport. The Starjammer sure knew how to pick them, and Neva was just itching to get off this rock and back out into the stars.
She knocked back a shot from a reluctant bartender, wiping her mouth and giving an involuntary shiver.
"Eugh. Grim. I ain't comin' back to this shite pile o' rubble for hopefully the rest o' my life, so keep the change, biggun."
Neva tossed him the credits, and gave a final look out of the window. The Starjammer lay waiting, the final checks being made. She scowled to herself and everyone else in the room.
"Get me the fuck off this rock right now..."
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Post by Nomz on Nov 15, 2024 21:23:46 GMT
Elio nods, curls bouncing a little as he does so, and tucks another piece of fruit into his mouth. It's nearly gone already. He tosses Silas's words around in his head, weighing them and deciding that the smaller crew may be the better choice. If it ever came to it, he and Silas would be able to- Well, it would never come to something as deadly as that. Elio is certain of it.
"Are we convincing them by polite means or underhanded ones," he asks even as his eyes light up with amusement and more than his share of mischievousness. While most see and feel the hope that lives in Elio's chest like his own private star, there are the few that get to see the side of him that marked him as a troublemaker in his youth. Way back on Earth.
His lips part with a quip or another about always ensuring their chosen people require the help of a good doctor and mechanic when a loud voice stops him. He watches on as a young woman strides up to the bar with a swagger that implies she owns the whole damned port and then demands a drink. It is not hard to catch her conversation and Elio spares only a moment to look at Silas with a grin. See, his eyes seem to say, good feeling.
Before he can be stopped, the medic calls out to the stranger, "If you're still standing, you're still sober. Got time to sit and have another? Maybe tell us how you even got stuck on this shite pile of rubble."
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Post by Countess on Nov 18, 2024 22:13:49 GMT
"Start polite... If that doesn't work, then I'll come in. Get me to the ship, I'll make sure they need me..." Silas says with a wry grin. Wouldn't be his first time with a little sabotage... Just have to keep his abilities under wraps. Not like he and Elio will stick around long anyways. They are so close to getting their own little ship again...
Silas exhales sharply through his nose, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a snort. He doesn’t need to say it—Elio’s already got that “I told you so” look written all over his face. Silas shifts on his stool, turning slightly to eye the newcomer as she downs her drink like it’s her last. Her sharp tongue and the swagger in her step scream trouble, and Silas is immediately on high alert. “Real subtle, Elio,” he mutters under his breath, but there’s no real bite to his tone. He knows this is how things go. Elio shines a light, and Silas moves in the shadows.
His gaze flicks to Neva, sizing her up. She’s no greenhorn, that much is clear. She carries herself like someone who’s seen her fair share of bad ports and worse company. The kind of person who’d be handy in a scrap but might start one just as easily. Silas leans back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the scene unfold.
Elio’s invitation hangs in the air, and for a moment, Silas wonders if the woman will take the bait. If she’s smart, she’ll see the opportunity—two capable spacers who might be more help than hindrance. Or, she’ll brush them off, thinking she’s better off alone.
Either way, Silas is ready. He shifts his weight slightly, his boot tapping once against the bar’s footrest, signaling that he’s paying attention to every move in the room.
“Let’s see if she bites,” he mutters, his voice low enough for only Elio to hear. He is careful to at least keep Neva in the corner of his eyes, his expression neutral but his posture subtly tense, ready for anything.
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Post by Beriadan on Nov 21, 2024 19:45:21 GMT
"Aye, well, that depends if you're buyin', stranger."
Neva turned to grin at the speaker. Finally, someone of some interest. Big Green had wandered off, or at least lost track of her, and these locals weren't any source of entertainment. These two, however, looked fun. Like they had a story, and maybe money. She waved a hand at the bartender, three clawed fingers. He gave her a look that could wither a forest, but only when she wasn't looking, and began to pour three glasses of sweet-smelling purple spirit. Neva's ear twitched as Silas muttered, and she grinned, sharp toothed and wicked. "Aye, I bite, big'un, but only if ya ask nicely, eh? C'mon, do ya wanna drink or not? It ain't hangin' around for yer all day."
As if to make a point, Neva knocked hers back in one go. She made a face, half way between a wince and a smile, licking her lips. "Mm- fuckin' shit, this is the good stuff. Name's Calico Jack, but ya both know that already. Renowned thief and charlatan, plucky renegade, shit outta luck stuck on this asteroid while my ship gets repaired, aye. Ain't much I can do but wait around gettin' rat-arsed and listenin' to whatever the two of yous has to say. C'mon, down this drink an' g'is yer names before I get bored."
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