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Vergo Flux (SC RP); It's a working title
Topic Started: Jul 1 2011, 02:28 PM (8,273 Views)
~Deadly Aim~
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Deadeye '17, eager to move on from the slow-motion train wreck that was last year.
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If Travis were inwardly moved by Grace's outburst, his initial stony frown suggested otherwise.

(You know something...? Why am I even bothering to explain myself to her,) Travis thought to himself as he worked in silence. (What the hell would some civilian-trained murderer and enforcer for "Savage" Henry Callahan know about what really goes on in the military...? Not surprised, considering she's bought the lie that she could never get out of it. She really doesn't understand that what I condemn isn't the fact that she stole just to survive, but that she chose to stay in that lifestyle like a pig in the mud once she could move out of it.)

(I mean really, Travis, what were you expecting?) Travis mentally scoffed towards himself as he tightened a few more mechanisms. (You tried to show a little good will towards a snake, and she bit you as is her nature. Why are you so surprised...? Were you hoping that she was going to change? Pffft... as though Grace ever cared about change. You know what she is; she's a manipulative, snaky witch looking to excuse her bad decisions. She's responsible for the death of your brothers-in-arms because she pretended to be in the military, and got them killed because they caredi enough to look; at least she has good acting skills. Fitting, for a woman who's lived like a chameleon.)

And yet... perhaps Grace didn't really understand what he was getting at. After a heavy sigh was loosed from his lips, Travis' gaze softened in its anger, and took on a weight that was somehow more... melancholy. Human, as he was.

(Maybe she needs to understand that I'm not as "above it all" as she thinks I am...?)

Indeed, gone was the stony frown; in it its place was an expression of contrition, perhaps even compassion. Perhaps, one might observe, Grace could understand that there was a reason for the stonewalling and the general "tough" demeanor of the man she perceived as having no compassion at all.

"Grace, please hear me out," Travis' tone was much more subdued and softened, as though he had never been angry with her; his volume had changed so much that it was on the verge of being a whisper, to the point that Grace might have to strain to hear. "There are things that I have done or experienced which I never been able to explain to anybody outside of the military or my chosen profession; not because they wouldn't listen, but because the vast majority of people simply can't understand what that does to you. I'm not trying to sit on a high horse and judge you totally and utterly, and pretend that I've never done nothing wrong, or try to sit here having a pissing contest on who had it worse... even though I can't agree with how you've lived. I'm sorry for lashing out at you, though; you didn't deserve that.

"Look... my state of mind has nothing to do with you, okay Grace? This goes well beyond what happened on the Claymore for me; I've dealt with this for years. I do think, however, that the two of us need to sit down at length and actually try to understand why either of us are the way we are. I know there's more to you than a rap sheet, Grace; if there wasn't, you wouldn't have said anything to Tychus back in the cantina. Assuming that you'd be willing to, of course; couldn't blame you after what I've said today if you told me to jump off a cliff."

Travis fastened the ammo dispenser shut, powered it on to make sure it was working, and then turned once again to meet Grace's eyes. "I think we're done on this deck. Ready to head to Swann?"
Edited by Deadly Aim, Oct 10 2015, 02:02 PM.
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Clockwork Master

In that brief moment of silence that followed the woman's equally simple greeting, Lenna tried to get a quick idea just what kind of person she was. But it was like looking at a wall. Heck, she would have replaced that description as staring at another fellow Ghost, but even they still retained some semblence of personality in their. Usually cold or even uncaring, but even there was at least something there - demeanor or thought wise. That much she always remembered.

But this woman, well...it was like she was a total blank. Even her thoughts were complete and utter static, which left her rather unnerved. And, for a brief moment, she considered, just slightly, about trying a different person. But when her unsure gaze started roaming, it met Ghelm. He was happy as can be, and, sitting on a different table some distance away from her, was giving her an enthusiastic thumbs.

Ugh, talk about subtle, she thought, rolling her eyes. Yet he was perhaps quietly right about one thing; she was here, might as well make the most of it.

Turning back with a sigh, she tried to make idle chit chat. Tried being the operative word. "No...yes...maybe - ugh, I don't know. Look I..." she grumbled, frustrated at her own inability to turn out a proper, single phrase.

Her eyes then fell on the woman's meal. Then back at her.

"Ok, seriously," she said, just right off the bat, "why do you need such a massive meal in the first place?"
Edited by CEMP, Oct 3 2015, 07:24 PM.
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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~Alissa~
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Alissa didn’t think that was why Lenna had joined her at the table, it was an obvious question but really not something that would generate as much discomfort as the woman seemed to have in starting a conversation. If anything it reminded her of herself, in those first few months when she was learning how to deal with people without control pulling the strings.

She glanced down at her meal, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite, giving herself a chance to consider how to answer. In her own reality she kept information about herself pretty close, but that was in part to keep information of where she was from ending up back at the coalition…if control had an operative in this reality….she would be impressed.

“The…event that brought us across did significant damage to my systems; I’ve been through a regeneration cycle. Now I need to replenish what was used” she said quietly before finishing the bacon

“Now that we have finished discussing my dietary requirements…what is the real reason for this conversation?” Alissa asked quietly, she wasn’t annoyed as yet, but she did want to know what it was this woman actually wanted. Alissa glanced down to the food in front of her, there was a cinnamon roll on a plate next to the bulk of her meal, she pushed it across the table toward Lenna quietly before looking back up at her. “I don’t have to try to see that something is bothering you, my people skills are somewhat lacking though…” she offered the ghost of a smile
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Leaning further onto the table, Lenna listened intently to what Alissa told her. She didn't do it so much out of intrigue as rather simple reconnaisance. Any tidbit of information she could garner about these new 'arrivals', no matter how small, could be invaluable - both for her, and the Dominion. Especially in regards to those like the woman before her. Even disregarding the her flat personality and 'static' thoughts, her pail skin, white hair, and almost opaque eyes were dead give aways that Alissa wasn't merely human.

And that that it all the more need-to-know. Because if this person really did become a threat to the Dominion and its citizen's, she needed to know what kind. Already, based on the few words that had been spoken, she had a working theory that, if not a very human alien, Alissa was a human experiment of some kind. Cybernetically ehnahcned, most likely; and potentially created as a living weapon.

Much like her.

Who else better to recognize it such as one like herself. Granted, this was all just pure theory and no hard fact, but all the obvious hallmarks were there. And if, in fact, everything about this dimension rip was indeed a very much a lie - which, she automaticly considered, very possible - this could mean a serious problem. It could mean that either the Kel'Morien, Umojan Protectorate, or, god forbid, even the UED, had developed some kind of new soldier.

All the more reason she deliberately remained stoic and silent after Alissa posed the question she didn't want to answer, not sure how to reply without getting suspision. Well, right up until the woman proffered a cinimon bun and smile.

At which point, was probably both the most human reaction the woman had made. One that made her seem all the more alien, in fact. Heck, for a brief moment, she made a surprised stare that made it look as though Alissa had just did a very alien gesture.

"Ya' don't say?" she replied, finally, in regards to Alissa's people skills.

Sighing, more to herself, she took the cinamon bun without a second thought. She needed the food. And perhaps she was over reacting. Either way, she thought, it might pay a mind to try Ghelm's way and, well, be truthful. To an extent.

"I must be honest," she said, still choosing her words carefully, "you...perturb me. I mean no offense, only that you're not like anyone else I met. You say you're from another dimension, which I suppose might be true, even if it does sound more for science fiction. But regardless of the truth, your appearance is...remarkably human, yet not at the same time."

She hefted the bun off the plate, and held it close to her mouth briefly before taking a bit.

"Who... what are you, if you don't mind me asking?" she said.

She took another bite of her cinnamon bun, and her chewing began slow as a lost puzzle piece of her life had suddenly been filled. This cinnamon bun was nothing like her mother's had been.

Even as she still ate and listened intently, a tear streaked down her cheeks.

----------------

"Agent P45293Q has not reported within two days after her projected retrieval date," one commander discussed.

"Indeed. Her neural inhibiter is still active and tracking, and showing that her vital signs," came a second.

"Which can only means one of two things," said the first, "she is either stranded without communication, or she has been captured by the enemy."

There was a thrum of thought from the second in command. "Both are possible, given the strange reports of psionic emation that coincided with the coordinates of her passage. Although I find it hard to believe the latter."

"How so?"

"Only that scouts reports remants of zerg and protoss within the region. Most likely a large scale fight occured. And neither are inclined to take ghost's hostages."

"True, although we know we know that the Queen of Blades once been a former ghost. It's possible that...well, we don't know for sure until more recon is done."

"It's already been dispatched."

"I beg my pardon," came the commander, surprised.

The second in command shrugged, "Higher up thought it'd be prudent to send another ghost to track down the agent, given that she was there during it. She may bare potential knowledge on what occured."

"How soon can we expect an ETA?"

"Very soon. Apparently this agent was already close by the lost operatives. In fact, he's from one of the hidden, 'morally ambigious' science facilities that experiments with psionics. If everything succeeds, this other operative will take her back there for questioning."
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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~Alissa~
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“Who….What are you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Alissa did mind, she found she minded a great deal. Not the question it’s self but the way it was asked. Something in the way the question was presented made her feel like her innate humanity was being questioned.

And then there was the tear, as ever when she was in situations like this she wondered inwardly if it was some ghost of training that she noticed the sign of an emotional break because of training or not. Was she viewing this woman as a potential asset, a defector to bring in, a source of information. Or was it a human response to a sign that another human being was in pain. Then again as her next thought wasn’t ‘how can I use this to my advantage’ she chose to believe that it was not training, and actual human compassion. Whatever anger she may have felt at the way the question was asked evaporated. She didn’t need to be psychic to read that this woman was in pain.

The “static” she put off might be seen to change slightly as her expression shifted slightly, an air of friendly understanding perhaps on her face, she pushed a napkin across the table to Lenna as a way to say she noticed the tear but there was not judgement in that moment.

“I’m a spy….or I was” she said quietly “I left the employ of my original….benefactors. My specialties were espionage, infiltration, sabotage, and assassination.” She said with as much emotion as someone describing their resume to someone else might, it was part of figuring out who she was now, accepting who she had been. “Now I freelance, mostly bounty hunting, but there are a few other things, it’s difficult to find a way to fit into normal life given what I’ve seen…but I think you know that.”

It was pure intuition nothing more; she could spot the training on the woman…that she knew was an artifact of her own training. Alissa got the impression that this woman was a good deal less used to concealing her training than she was.
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The meeting with Swann had gone smoother than expected. For all her aloofness and chaotic energy, Grace actually seemed to know her stuff. She'd been hoping for just a little bit of approval, or maybe just an acknowledgement that she didn't actually destroy everything, but she got nothing.

But then again, maybe Travis not saying a word was all the acknowledgment that was necessary.

About a half an hour later, they were back in the cantina having lunch. Well, Travis was, anyway. Grace was having more of a liquid lunch, consisting of her beloved gin and tonics and supplemented with plenty of smoke.

"I fought in a war too, you know," she said. "You remember that war, don't you Travis? Henry versus Gio, New York versus Jersey, Irish versus Italian... God, you must've been barely in high school then."

She was sure he remembered, even if it was just vague memories of news reports about rising gangland killings. You couldn't escape it back then, it was everywhere. It seemed like every day, another body was being fished out of the Hudson or washing up on the Jersey shore.

And then there was the propaganda war the bosses were fighting amongst their peers. Gio wanted people to see it as as a regional thing, New York trying to push around New Jersey, as usual. Henry, on the other hand, wanted to make it about the Italians pushing the Irish around, as usual.

"It wasn't a war between armies. But it was a war all the same. We feared for our lives. I saw my friends die."

She stared into her glass, memories of violence and death coming flooding back. "How old were you when you first killed someone?" she asked. "I was nineteen. Maybe you were younger, I know you enlisted as soon as you were of age. But I bet you were better prepared than I was. Not that I wasn't well trained and all. Henry molded me into a finely tuned weapon. But he forgot to mold me into a killer.

"Nick and his guys, they were killers. Marines, just like you. He brought them all together as his own little hit squad after Gio unleashed Kizun Shransgait on us. Nobody had ever seen anything like him before, so we had to respond in kind. And then Kizun killed Jojo, their sniper. That's where I came in. Nick had taught me how to shoot, said I was a natural, so I basically got drafted to replace him." Their eyes met through her cigarette smoke. "I never wanted to be a hitwoman. I'm a thief, a spy, a saboteur. But I accepted the job. Not for personal gain or cheap thrills, but because people I cared about were dying. Jojo was my friend. And Henry... Henry is they only father I've ever known. Our cause may not have been noble, but we fought for each other, because we were family.

"They were my family. After my mom died, and living on the streets for a couple of years, they were all I had. Nobody cared about me. None of the 'good' people anyway. It was only the 'bad' people who showed me love. The other girls on the streets who worked the corners. Henry, who took me in and treated me like I was his own. Yeah sure, he's a ruthless gangster, but does it even occur to you that he could be a loving husband and father? That's who we are. That's what happens when the world rejects you. You have to make your own way, and damn the consequences.

"I'm not a murderer, Travis. I've taken my fair share of lives, but I'm not some cold blooded killer." She paused, remembering that one job when she infiltrated Travis's unit. One of the reasons he hated her so much.

"I'm not responsible for your friends dying," she said. "My employer specifically instructed me not to leave any bodies behind. I was to go in, secure the goods, and get out. I didn't kill anyone. Not even the Sergeant. I kicked him in the head and knocked him out cold, but he was still breathing when I left. Couldn't tell you how he ended up dead."

Travis's eyes were inscrutable. So similar in color to hers, though his were more blue-gray and hers more gray-blue. But she loved staring into them. She reached over and brushed a stray lock of his unruly blond hair out of his face, and gave him a sly little grin.

"Travis," she said, "how many times do I have to put my hands on you before you drag me into a bunk and ravish me? And that's not a rhetorical question, by the way. I want a number."
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"Where to begin," Travis' eyes were flat, carefully calculated; if there were any rage slowly simmering behind those blue grays, it was hard to say. "First... I'm not at liberty to say who, but I'm a taken man. Sorry to disappoint you."

The look upon Travis' face dropped from its stony repose to one of solemn resolve; it was neither angry nor sad, and yet it was heavy and spoke of a mind that had labored carefully over it in vigor.

"Grace, this might surprise you, but... I don't see you as some kind of completely unrepentant monster," Travis gently gestured to the table, pulling out a chair at the other side for Grace to sit in. "You might want to sit down, this is going to be complicated to explain."

Travis waited for Grace to be seated before he continued speaking, privately amused at how she seemed to be confounded at the sudden show of good manners towards her. Travis supposed that he couldn't blame her; he had not exactly given her reason to think he was capable of civility.

"How to explain this... to address that point of our youth? I also remember the gang wars; I can imagine that it certainly was a terrifying time for you. It was terrifying for me, too; I often found myself spending my nights at the YMCA and running back and forth from there to home for clothes; the streets weren't always safe, so I had to pick up on my own street-smarts, and home wasn't exactly a sanctuary with my mom worshiping her false gods in Miller and Pabst. I had to be careful to time my visits between her bouts of drinking if I didn't want to get empty bottles thrown at me for reminding her of my dead father."

When he noted Grace's perplexed expression, Travis shrugged too. "Yeah, I don't know why, either; hard to know the mind of a drunk. But I digress... that's what got me interested in learning martial arts, going to the firing range and joining the JROTC. In regards to being forced to protect ourselves? You and I aren't so different there; we were trapped and wanted a way out of our situation. I was some kid who wanted a chance at doing something other than endure supporting a dysfunctional and mentally ill mother in my father's shadow and among the dangerous streets. You were a young girl backed into a corner and felt that your only option was to fight. I know the pain of losing the people you hold dear, and the helplessness that instills."

"Still," Travis exhaled heavily, the sharpness of his eyes lessening into apparent sympathy. "I can't envy you; you were a young girl being forced to pick up a gun and fight. Especially against a privately-armed mutant with a lust for bloodshed, I can imagine that had to be frightening. Kizun Shransgait was no picnic for me, either."

"But I differ on one point," Travis steepled his hands, leaning forward onto the table. "Yes... when I was brought into the Marine Corps, they did mold me and my brothers in arms into living weapons, that much is true. We were given order, structure, discipline. We were given nearly 3500 years worth of combat instruction, tactics and military knowledge dating back to the days of Roman Empire. But you're wrong in that we were molded into mere killers... Nick Scanlan may deny it if you were to ask him, but I suspect it has more to do with him not wanting to burden you with the tribulations ever asked of us."

For a moment, Travis exhaled uneasily. "I remember my first deployment, shortly after I was transferred to the Commando Corps. My company was tapped to deploy onto planet Berylar, a world located close to the Federation rims. There was a separatist movement on that world, but it had devolved into a hub for thugs and warlords, and they had escalated the situation by attacking and taking over a Federation Army outpost. So, the Army basically went and begged General Havelock for help... and lo and behold, my company gets orders to deploy and order the separatists to surrender and disperse."

Travis began to passively twirl a crunchy-fried plant... ring thing absentmindly in one of his hands before setting it back onto his plate. "You can imagine how that may have gone. We're shouting orders to surrender and disperse on the megaphone... and even though we were unarmed one of them gets jumpy and starts blasting at us with a machine gun emplacement. In the scramble that follows, my squad crawls around before we can get to where we'd stashed our rifles, and then we begin returning fire after one our own takes a round in the chest. I almost saw Stewarts get brained right in front me by one of the separatists, so I instinctively raised my rifle, aimed for center mass, and fired."

Travis seemed strangely calm as he described this carnage. "As the gunfire died down, I walked over to the guy who I had just shot in the chest, and he just looked up to me and said sorry and asked us to make sure his little girl was okay. And... that was the first time I killed somebody. Ever."

There was an uneasy pause, Travis' eyes heavy and wistful. "We found the kids further inside the base after the warlord surrendered, along with their mothers; they were afraid, and scared, but they were alive and unharmed. He was a pudgy, tattooed guy with a shaved head, a real charming kind of guy, but a real charismatic slug who was working a corrupt deal under the table with some local sector corporation; basically a real-life Jabba the Hutt. He basically blubbered for his life and confessed, begging for us not to kill him and told us about how they were planning to declare that entire sector of space independent and turn it into corporate bordello sector. You may remember it as the Great Sahashir Rim Scandal or whatever snowjob name that the media gave it...? Basically it was a plan to manipulate uneducated rim folk into becoming slaves. Yes, it sounds exactly like something out of a movie or comic book."

"But, enough about me," Travis shook his head, meeting Grace's eyes. "I think that you need to understand something; Grace... I'll admit it. You anger me at times. Your actions can and have at times disgusted me... but I don't necessarily hate you. No, the bone I've had to pick with you is one of a very different kind."

Travis leaned back stoking his chin, as if pondering. "How to put this in a way you can relate to or understand... I think Nick could fill you in on this, if he still remembers the standards that go along with being a Marine, but I must regretfully inform you that you that as far as I and any who served were concerned? Yes, you are responsible for their deaths."

Regardless of however Grace chose to react, Travis went on, undeterred. "Hear me out. I think you need to understand something. You not only infiltrated my company, you pretended to be in the Commando Corps and put on our uniform and our armor, you presented yourself as our senior officer. We were obligated to go looking for you... but I'll finish that in a bit. Believe me, once we realized at Staff Sergeant Tina Morales never existed, there were inquiries made... your contact, the former Captain Laurent Devries, is sitting in his cell right now in lifetime solitary confinement on-board the Erobalar Military Penitentiary Station, also called the "hellbound spacewheel". We made sure that those holes could never be opened again... a lesson that your employer learned first-hand when we bombed the ever loving crap out of his drug holdings, weapon houses, and raided all of his brothels. All the higher-ups in his gang were arrested and charged with treason."

Travis was deadly serious, and yet there was no anger, no real outburst of emotion; Travis was simply expounding what he knew. "Why am I telling you this...? Grace, by your namesake, you very much dodged a bullet. If there were a larger shred of solid evidence other than the fact that were a soldier in that mission that shouldn't have existed, you could have been tried in a military court for treason, simply because you made the decision to impersonate a non-commissioned officer."

"Here's the other part this you need to understand," Travis leaned in, his eyes heavy and sincere, and yet not angry. "You may remember that I told you are responsible for the deaths of Warren Stewarts and Jacob Smitts? Let me explain why. After you knocked him out on-board the Maryann, Smitts managed to get off in time before the Pirates blew the ship apart. When we landed our pods on Nuyaii Prime, he and I agreed to go looking for your pod to make sure you were safe, and when we found half your weapons ditched and evidence that you'd taken our only recon speeder for yourself, we began following the trail that you'd left through the jungle heading towards Revierre. Smitts' head was blown off right in front of me by a Zebesian sniper as we found your fake dogtags. In fact, his headless body stood there for a moment holding your tags before crumbling to the earth."

Travis paused for a bit, hoping to allow that information to sink in.

"Stewarts had it worse. After we passed through Revierre, got into a scuffle at Bargoal, we had to take the Shore Mire Road towards Great Gecko, the district capital and our only chance at getting evac and reinforcements. That's when we picked back up onto your trail and found more evidence of you cruising through. We then found the speeder, and your BDAUs propped up as if you were still in them. We had been running on sparse rations, and Stewarts, being as big-hearted as he was, ran out to make sure you were still breathing, not knowing that the armor was empty. When he reached it, I watched as a positively massive Nuyaii Marsh Crab queen emerged from the waters and chased him down with her entire brood following. Warren Stewarts had been with me for three years and was one of my best friends, and I couldn't do anything at all as I watched him start to get butchered right in front of me by that creature and her spawn. We managed to kill her and drive off her horde before we could get to stewarts, who had gashes in his armor all over the place and was missing half of the flesh on his shoulder; his left arm was pretty much a stump at the clavicle. He just looked at us, gave a few shuddering breaths, and he was gone. And that's how I lost one of my best friends... because of you."

"Grace, it's not merely anger that's driven my pursuit of you," Travis explained, his eyes now boring into hers, though if there was any anger it was carefully contained, controlled; it was more as if Travis were examining her very soul. "It was a matter of military and moral principle that I were to see you answer for what you've done. Because if not in this life, you will answer in the next. I don't hate you, but I don't exactly like you... and probably won't be able to easily. Why should I? Two very good men, one whom I was very close with, are dead - because of you. You can deny it all you like, claim you weren't there... sure, you weren't there. But your actions were direct factors that lead to their deaths. Especially Warren Stewarts; as far as I'm concerned, the blood of both Stewarts and Smitts is on your hands. And you need to repent of it. The worst part? These men just wanted to help you. Does that clear the air a bit for you?"
Edited by Deadly Aim, Feb 7 2016, 12:38 PM.
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Up until now, Grace had been quite friendly, even openly flirtatious. But all of a sudden, something had changed. A switch had been flipped, and Travis could see it.

"You know, if I'd said something like that - if I'd blamed the system for leaving me behind, or the cops who arrested me leading to me getting kicked of the Rutgers basketball team - you'd have told me to take responsibility for my own actions, wouldn't you? You know you would've. Dont even try to deny it." As she spoke, her expression got progressively harder, and although she didn't raise her voice, her tone definitely was starting to emerge that Travis hadn't really seen up until now. But it was one that Jimmy Vega was intimatley familiar with. If he were here, he could've told Travis what was coming. "Blame the Pirate who pulled the trigger. Blame the alien crab that was just following the dictates of Mother Nature. But don't blame me."

She held out her empty glass, and a waitress scurried over to scoop it up and fetch her another. She leaned in closer to him, floding her arms on the table, an intense fire burning in her those eyes of hers, so similar to his own. It's only a matter of time now, kid, Jimmy would've told him.

But there was something else in those eyes that he hadn't seen before, something he probably wasn't expecting. Pain. Something he'd said had hurt her, and hurt deeply.

"I know someday I'll have to answer for the things I've done. Hell, I'm answering for some of them right now, if you hadn't noticed. People like me don't get happy endings Travis, so I know that all to well." She arched an eyebrow at him, speaking volumes with just that little gesture. "But not to you. I do not have to answer to you for anything.

"Who the hell are you to judge me anyway? You think you're such a fucking saint, great big virtuous hero come to save the galaxy from all that is evil... bull-shit! You're no fucking hero. You're just a blunt instrument, wielded by the powerful against the weak. I've spent my whole life running from men like you, since before I even understood why. Because men like you had the power to take my mother away from me, or me away from her. Men like you could kill her in cold blood and get rewarded handsomely for it by the same people who branded her a criminal. She wasn't a bad person, she just lived a hard life, made a few mistakes, that's all. But she took care of me, she protected me the only way she knew how, and for that she got a bounty put on her head. Thank God she OD'ed and drowned in the bathtub before one of you people could get to her.

"Not that you give a shit. Not that you give a shit about any of the people living out there on the fringes, just trying to survive or fight back against an unjust system. The Bad People have to pay, that's all you know, like you're some kind of fucking wind-up toy soldier. You don't care about the pain you cause, the lives you destroy, the people you leave behind. So long as the Bad People have been punished, then justice is served, right? No need to worry about anything or anyone else. At least I know what I am. But you, you're in complete and total denial. The only pain that matters to you is your own."

The waitress returned with another gin and tonic. Grace took a sip, eyeballed Travis for a second, and then threw her drink in his face.

"Fuck you, Travis Clark. Fuck you and the high horse you rode in on."

She slammed the glass down on the table. People were staring now, but she didn't care. "Go take out your daddy issues on someone else," she sneered as she got up and stormed out of the cantina.

........................

"Hey!" Grace shouted, banging on the Arctic Storm's hatch, trying to get the AI's attention. She knew he could her her pounding away out there. "Permission to enter!" she yelled, then added, "Please."
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Deadeye '17, eager to move on from the slow-motion train wreck that was last year.
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Sad, but that makes it exceedingly clear, Travis thought to himself, sighing heavily as Grace stomped out of the cantina, quietly resisting the urge to rise to the bait and lash back; he would not give her what she wanted, which was to hurt him. Grace is just like a child who wets the bed, hides the sheets, and then blames the dog for it when she's caught. She doesn't take responsibility for almost anything, and ironically enough, is a complete hypocrite; she has the audacity to to tell me not to judge her and yet has the gall to do the same to me. Just goes to show how little she actually knows about me and guys like me - good thing I don't rely on the ignorant and the apathetic on which to get my morals and my beliefs. She wanted the truth? She got it; it doesn't matter if she liked it or not, and that's that.

As he calmly swirled his drink, Travis looked up from from the back of his eyelids and noticed half the cantina staring at him; given their ignorance of the history between the two, it wasn't surprising that most of the eyes affixed to him looked absolutely estranged. When his placidly met theirs, they went back to looking at whatever it was they were doing or conversing about.

Lord, please, give me patience to deal with this woman, Travis began to mentally mutter a prayer, folding his hands and bowing his head. I won't lie; I'm a sinner saved by Your grace... and admit that I struggle to forgive this woman, and even now there are some things for which I believe she should be made accountable for; surely You know that she's done me and others a lot of wrong, Lord, even if she refuses to my face to acknowledge it. Please, Lord, help me be more forgiving and kind to her and show her that Your way is better? Grace has lived in a world where the bullet, mammon, and brutality are the law; help me help her realize that I'm not what she thinks I am, and that there are those who do what I do for the sake of justice, order and truth. Please Lord, move her heart... Nevertheless, may Your will, and not mine, be done. In Your name, Lord, Amen.

"Grace," Travis began with a sigh, shaking his head as he stood up and walked his dishes over to the wash-bin. "You don't understand me at all... you don't even try to. I guess... I guess this is why Krawford told me that civvies have a hard time understanding the standards in which we abide, and why I take so much offense to her actions."

-------------------

"Come now, Higgins, you know what I mean. This is no trifling matter. Are you a man of a good character where women are concerned...?"

Klong. Klong, klong.

"Have you ever met a man of good character where women are concerned...?"

Klong-klong-klong-klong-klong.

"Now who on earth...?" Constantine had been passing the time watching ancient classic films from the 20th century, and currently found himself embroiled in the 1960s classic, My Fair Lady. And yet, Travis wasn't due to return for another couple of hours.

When he paused the film and opened a holoscreen connection to see who it was that had been disturbing him, however, Constantine instantly regretted it as he felt his face fall into a frown concealed by his lengthy, snow-white beard. He quickly moved that to a flat expression, but the fact that she wanted to board was dubious in and of itself - at least he felt it so.

"For what purpose do you want to board?" Constantine's voice was carefully kept level, but his tone hinted that he would brook no deception; it was obvious that he did not trust her. "And with all due respect, what are you doing here alone?"
Edited by Deadly Aim, Mar 15 2016, 05:55 PM.
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"I'm alone cause I wanna get away from Captain America back there. I can't stand to be around him anymore. He makes me wanna slit my wrists."

Talking with Travis had left her emotionally exhausted. He wasn't listening to her. Nothing she had said seemed to get through to him. It just didn't compute. She tried opening to him, show him a different side to her, but that didn't work. It felt like all he wanted to do was bark at her. There were moments in there where she thought they'd had a breakthrough, when maybe, just maybe, they could understand each other. When he might be able to understand her.

Oh, what a fool she'd been.

There wasn't any understanding to be had. They had way too much bad blood between them, something she should've realized from the start. He was just far to stubborn to ever see things differently. Nothing she could say or do could ever satisfy him. Even if she did everything he asked of her, said all the things he wanted her to say, she'd still be scum in his eyes.

"As for my purpose? I wanna talk about how your boy is thick as a brick. And I can't for the life of me understand why. I thought maybe you could help me out with that."
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