space balls but with less legal balls

[scupper]

[It's not that he's exactly reckless or particularly careless. The fact of the matter is Duo's luck really fucking sucks. Which is why he was marooned on a shuttle with zero thruster power, his Gundam long gone, the colonies nowhere in sight and communications silent as the grave (how very ironic for the god of death himself, lifeless, endless space stretched out in front of him with a carpet full of stars).

That is until he struck a spot of luck- that ended up not being very lucky at all. A ship, a battle ship to be exact, rescued him and promptly seized him for questioning and the like.

It goes without saying that questioning is the universal language for "beat the shit out of Duo until he sings or makes a quip and passes out" out here in space. Which is where we find our braided hero in a startlingly familiar setting:

A darkened room, handcuffed to a chair with bruises zinging and stinging up and down his ribs and across his face. He wrenches his wrists against the cuffs to no avail; they merely rattle against the chair and give little. Well, he's had worse.]

Maaaan, this sucks. Hospitality sure ain't what it used to be in the colonies. Guess I can't blame 'em but a little grub would be nice.

Comments

Re: honks your tit

[badcoverband]

[....huh?

His apology comes at the end of a statement that comes out so fluidly she’s tempted to believe him--but is he a colonist? She hasn’t heard a word of Cylons using kids, not like this, shooting them out into space?, but she knows that doesn’t mean jack shit when it comes down to it. She grabs the clipboard again (not as gracefully as a certain clipboard boner, mind) and flips through the few sheets, eyes scanning rapidly (almost as rapidly as one of those single scarlet eyes, sliding back and forth but oh yes, as organic as she - the memory of that smell would remind her of that fact forever). But her eyes catch on the word where it does, in a single mention in the middle of a paragraph describing his vessel - who the frak wrote this mess? - state a mention of the Colonies from him.

She sits back down, tossing the clipboard back onto the table with only slightly softer clatter. And his words about being jaded were true, of course, gods, she had been jaded well before fifteen, but it is so easy to detach prisoner from human (or Cylon?? Maybe even half-Cylon? the question still races through her mind, leaves a bad aftertaste in the back of her throat). She gestures to one of the guards, who brings in a tray of food. How familiar this scene is to her, but with such a different subject. She has him set it down in front of the kid, watching his face carefully, wondering if she’s taking the wrong approach. But--]

I’m not sure how much of your sweet-talking I believe, but I like what I hear. And you’re right. Rations suck.

[How very different from the Kara of the interrogation that steals her breath away when she remembers it; not that she’s being lenient. Ever since Kacey, kids just don’t piss her off as much anymore. And, aw frak, an injured one at that… but that’s exactly what they want, isn’t it? Preying on this bullshit, on me, even after all this time, even after I know the truth.

She straightens her shoulders, drawing on the strength of the steely-eyed Viper jock within, Captain Kara Thrace, best damn pilot the Colonial Fleet’s ever seen, to bring herself back to the situation at hand. She’s just offering the carrot instead of the stick this time, is all. Hoping some gratefulness will get him to talk. She puts out her hand, palm up, and in it the guard places a key.

She stands again and walks to the chair he’s in and unlocks the handcuffs, tucking them in her belt and shoving the key in her pocket. With a curt nod, she dismisses the guard again to stand outside the door that closes with the characteristic heavy slam, but she stays leaning close - she can’t lose that steel edge to her to give him any openings in her armor; if he’s a Cylon or Cylon agent and she lets it get by, Laura Roslin would be all too pleased to throw her out the airlock.]

Go on and eat, french fry. Just remember, it’s rude to talk with your mouth full. It’ll give you plenty of time to choose your words carefully.

Sadly we don't have room for cowards on Galactica but I'm sure we can find some use for your sorry ass.

[scupper]

[He'd been prepared to lash out with some half assed offense strategy when she gestured for the guards, wrists straining at the cuffs, digging into his skin, uselessly, but-

In seconds his body freezes and he's eye to eye with a tray of edibles just for him. He's silent, letting this woman's voice wash over him for all of about five seconds before the biggest grin breaks out on his face, one of those 100 watt ones, all sorts of pleased (and that's dangerous) and aimed right at Kara]

Thanks a lot, lady! Maybe you're alright afterall. I'll use my good manners just for you.

[Then he proceeds to tuck in with gusto! This doesn't mean he trusts her, definitely has Getting The Fuck Outta Here at the top of his list of things to do, but she isn't half bad. Maybe. She's not stupid, god no, and understands the logic that yes, give prisoner a little crumb and it'll go a long way. There are some commanders and leaders that will callously brush that off and pound answers out of people with no thought to humanity at all. And he can dig the fact that this lady isn't taking that approach. She's right, though, the food is not only amazing warm fuel in his belly but a great stall tactic! He's decided to be as vague as possible but not act dumb to all.

So he'll damn near lick the tray and at the mention of use on this thing, he chews, swallows, then manages to reply without spraying too many crumbs]

I hope I've got a say in avoidin' being thrown ass first out an airlock, with my usefulness bein' up in the air and all. I'm good with my hands and I'm a fast learner. Plus who wouldn't want to look at this smiling face when they've had a long shift?

[He grins, framing his face with one hand.

I can also pilot just about anything, I'm good with firearms, have been labeled a terrorist and call myself the God of Death. When do I start work that won't have you thinking I'm tinkering with your operations here? Yeah, that'd go down great. He continues to stuff his face, and in between bites, asks:]

So what now?

[badcoverband]

What now is I tell you that my name isn’t lady. It’s Captain Thrace to you, at least until you can prove yourself worthy of getting to call me anything else. Got it?

Obviously they didn’t teach you any manners in the Colonies. [She walks back to her chair, settles in nicely, and leans in.] And speaking of...which one used to claim you? The more I deal with you the more I’m not so sure you’re a Gemenon brat after all. Not spouting enough religion and the gods and blah, blah, blah. [As if she’s not the one with figures of Aphrodite and Artemis she prays to sometimes. Nope. Not her, you must have the wrong Kara Thrace.]

[She cocks an eyebrow at the way he eats, all sudden energy and Way Too Much Enthusiasm for somebody who was beaten up not even hours before. She tries to not place too much stock in it, tries to get the picture of him doing the same thing, remembering his words, “When you’re starving, anything tastes good.” Yeah, well, maybe he’s onto something, or maybe the kid’s just a typical fifteen-year-old boy. Something in her gut tells her otherwise, though.

But damn if he doesn’t know how to work the charming grin. Ugh, kids, she thinks with a grunt.]

Good with your hands and a fast learner, huh? Those skills sure didn’t keep your ass from getting captured, so what am I s’posed to do with that? Maybe Chief’s got a job for ya. Here I was, all hopeful and optimistic you’d have a little more to offer than that.

[She sizes him up and down, trying to figure out just what she wants to do with him, what approach to take, and so on. He doesn’t seem to be responding to the beat-downs, obviously, but she isn’t afraid to do a little persuading with her fists, either, 15-year-old or not.]

this might be poop.....but i also kinda like? idk

[scupper]

Sir yes sir, Captain.

[He grins at her words, offers her a smart little salute. She's a tough one, that's for sure. He'd pegged her rank about right, anyhow; not quite disciplined and honed and hard (yet the understanding and possibility of empathy) enough of a Commander rank or that of an Admiral. She's well respected and one of the top of her rank. The word Gemenon means shit to him but when she asks about his colony there's a split second of a flinch, barely readable beneath his jaded, cracked mouth (in spirit and flesh split and smeared with blood). He hadn't gotten that question lately.

(Just WHO ARE YOU and WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR and WHAT ARE YOU FIGHTING FOR? The hard hitting questions but he hit right the fuck back, with either a slice of Deathscythe's blade or the crack of gunfire) Should he break his motto and lie? It'd be simple to connect the dots, connect his name to the church but...but it's a lie. But on the other hand she hasn't mentioned anything about Gundams yet or the Alliance...and there's really no reason to trust this woman or her crew that beat and damn near tortured him to get information but. But-]

I'm from L2. I did more running than bein' claimed, really. [His mouth slants with edges of broken glass and clingy ghosts.] God? The only god we can rely on nowadays is the God of Death.

[Him. And just like that, providing nothing else, he goes right back to his meal. He works the fork in his mouth for a couple of seconds, mulling over divulging more info and finally decides:]

I'm a mechanic, a damn good one, but I highly doubt you'll let me prove it. No biggie, it's smart. [He shrugs those slim shoulders; he got caught because he got sloppy, out there in the dark and empty silence of space, too much time to think, too much time isolated. Stealth is normally his forte. Instead he says-]

Figured it'd be better to get caught and possibly get a meal than starve and die out there alone. Chief? Hey, I've got a lot to offer! Good cheer, quick hands, plenty of pep. You just haven't hit the right high notes yet. [He winces and actually chuckles hollowly] Phrasing.

nooo yours wasnt poop! don't make me poop ON u

[badcoverband]

[Is that sarcastic ‘tude she detects? She would know about that...but she can’t read him as well as the others. His slight hesitation sends off warning bells in her head, but his answer throws her for a loop before she can react to it.]

L-two? That some kinda joke? I’m not feeling too funny today, kiddo, so let’s cut the crap and get to it. I’m only gonna ask you one more time. Which colony are you from?

[And yet...and yet even as the words leave her mouth, something about the ease with which he talks about his running habits makes her wonder…

No way. It’s a trick just like the rest of it, probably. She knows it all ends when someone lets their guard down. But then he makes her laugh, all with a slight roll of her eyes - she feels vaguely put on edge by the God talk, the worm of suspicion burrowing deeper in her mind but covers up her bristling with laughter.]

Oh gods, don’t tell me you’re one of those My Triumphs, My Mistakes Baltar ‘one true God’ nutty buddies. Heard it all before. [Yeah, from a Cylon too… a twisted voice in her head spits.]

Yup, you got one thing right at least. I’m not lettin’ you within an inch of my Viper, though I’m oh so curious as to whether or not you’re a, uh, [smirk] man of your word or not. [then she laughs] They'd have you for a snack in that hangar.

Let's get this straight now and for all. I don't need YOU to tell me how smart it is. Like I haven't dealt with this for too frakking long. I know your types. A slash in the wrong hose, bomb planted in the engines where nobody would check, same old song.

Nah, I'm thinking the brig's a good place to test your good cheer, if I can't work some of that enthusiasm outta you.

[scupper]

Eh? [His fork is halfway to his mouth when her disbelief registers, and an uncomfortable feeling makes the hairs straying from his braid at the nape of his neck furl.

That doesn't sound right. What's she getting at?? Sticking to his motto sure does bring a lot of pain and suffering and bullshit to Death's Doorstep doesn't it.

His brows furrow.] I wouldn't wanna test out your bruise-y sense of humor on a good day, lad- Cap'n, trust me. I'm from L2. Recently held by the balls thanks to some pretty nasty guys gunning for "peace". [Yes, with a grim thinning of his mouth, he includes the air quotes. Shovels the last dregs of food into his mouth to buy him some time.]

We're all kinda nuts, really. I dunno about putting my triumphs and mistakes in with the rest of the nuts but sure, there are lotsa gods and beliefs and stuff. But in the end Death is the one that calls the shots.

[Peace, war, allies, enemies, justice- it's all washed away and all made equal (equal to shit, maybe) when you're looking a Gundam in the eye. There's nothing left except the feelings people leave behind.]

S'fine with me, I know people're anal and protective over their machines. [He knows plenty of people like that, one Perfect Soldier in Spandex in particular] You guys might haveta fatten me up a bit before you take a bite. And I tend to nibble back a little.

[His shoulders rise and he barely flinches with the movement this time, the grating of bruises to the bone and something not quite connecting right, sets his fork down in order to lift his hands palms up in defense.

Maaaan, these times we live in. Can't even make a comment about safety procedures without someone crawling up your ass. Well, he can't blame her, again. And...she isn't wrong. He's done exactly as she's described countless times; it's his specialty afterall.]

Alright, alright, you're the boss, boss. Just givin' credit where it's due. I've got no motive or means to do that, you'll see.

[He balks, shoulders slumping in dismay. Oy, he's gonna feel that in the morning.]

Don't suppose a nice comfy cot's waiting for me, huh. Enthusiasm? Nah, I'm totally chill, I can put on that gloomy teenage crap, no need to break a sweat over lil ol' me.

[Well as long as his oxygen isn't cut off in there and he's left to suffocate.....should be fun]