I fussed with my hair a bit in the mirror before washing my face and doing it again. Sure, I was a miner, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t at least try to look my best. Especially now that she was hanging around.
“Michaela?”
I spun around at the sound of my brother’s voice. “Yeah?”
He had stuck his head in and was now smiling at me. “You look nice. Think he’s going to notice today?”
I stuck out my lower lip. “I hope so. He’s so blind.”
Gabriel laughed. “Yeah, but he’s a good guy.”
I nodded in agreement and went back to finishing up before starting my shift.
Raphael gave another one of his short addresses to the crew before the beginning of the shift. He was one of the few who worked all three shifts, but he never seemed any worse for the wear. I smiled warmly every time his eyes passed me they swept across the crowd, but they always kept on going. I couldn’t seem to get them to stop, to linger.
The shift passed by quick enough, the tedious work on the barge improved by lively conversation with the other crew. Raphael had used to come visit me when we worked together, stopping by for some quick chats, but he hadn’t in a while now. He had stopped once his father had forced him into an engagement. I’d run through it all everyday while working, and the tedium was forgotten in my deep thought.
After the shift was over and we were back in the hangar, the ‘usuals’ went with Raphael as he got something to eat between shifts. I was one too, though. It was a close-knit group of us who had grown up together on the station, and we had all known each other since we were kids. Some us of longer than others, however.
As we sat down to eat, somebody asked Raphael if he was working all three shifts again.
“No, not today. I’ve got a date with Nephanie later, so I won’t be on third shift. Should be a nice break.” He smiled.
Ramiel smiled and raised both his brows. “Should be nice indeed.” He followed this statement with a snicker, and I shot him a dirty look.
My time was running out. I could tell that Raphael was beginning to have strong feelings towards Nephanie. If I didn’t act soon, I’d lose all chance. I began to think of a plan. When Raphael returned, he would most likely get a drink with Ramiel and Gabriel, his left and right hands. I needed to distract the oaf and my brother, and take Raphael’s time for myself. After the drink, he’d go to the crew quarters where he slept. It was shared with 5 other crew. They would need to be taken care of as well.
After Raphael left for his date, I set my plan in motion. First up was to distract the roommates. I didn’t really know any of them because we had never shared a shift, even though I occasionally pulled double shifts. Going after each one of them individually was going to be too hard, so I had to get them as a group. They were a bunch of Udorians, employed by Caspar Saint to foster better relations with a nearby branch of the Tash-Murkon family to whom they were related, and Raphael shared a room to help his father establish connections while making some of his own.
It had taken me a long time to come up with a way to remove them from the scene. Knowing next to nothing about them gave me very little information on what I could use to lure them away, so I decided to just play on one of their base desires. Finding them sharing a single bottle of wine together, I plopped myself down at their table and turned on the charm.
I flirted with all of them, all the while encouraging them to drink more, and had more wine bottles brought over to the table. As they got drunker they grew more bold, but I wouldn’t have any of that. One of them decided to get a little feely, and I cracked him over the head with one of the wine bottles, earning me cheers from the rest of them. I pretended to drink along with them, giving them hope that I would ‘play,’ but even an Ammatar has standards.
They were all too sauced to think clearly, and it showed. I enjoyed it as the made fools of themselves trying to impress me, flexing like idiots and yammering about how great they were. I laughed genuinely when one of them tried to do a flip, but in his drunken state only manage to fling himself onto the rest of them, causing the table to crack and sunder, spilling most of the wine onto the floor.
When I had them blue enough in the gills, they passed out. I Smiled at my good work in removing them, but it had taken a large amount of time to get them all drunk enough to pass out, and if I was lucky, none of them would remember a thing. Before I left, however, I took the time to take the hand of Mr. Grabby and place it on one of his friend’s behinds so that he could wake up and immediately worry about just how close he and his friend were when drunk.
Next was Ramiel. He was in idiot, so I knew it wouldn’t be too hard to keep him occupied for the night. All I had to do was find him a children’s jumble. That would keep him fixed for hours. I thought for a moment of how best to get him, and then the idea struck me. I wasn’t going to just get him out of the way for the evening; I was going to get him back for teasing me. He was always teasing me, and it was time for a little payback.
I tracked him down to his office. I knew where he was; now I needed a trap. I made a quick trip to storage and retrieved a small can. I went back up to his office and made covertly set up my trap nearby. I had his location and a trap, so all I needed to do now was lure him into it. Peeking inside through the small window in the door however, I saw that he was no longer in his office. He had left everything on though, signaling that he was merely away for a short while. Unfortunately I didn’t know how long he was going to be gone. I needed to finish this up, so I went looking for him again.
If he was only gone for a short while, he couldn’t have gone too far. Guessing that he might only be going to the bathroom, I crept over to the nearby men’s room. Quietly sticking my head inside, I saw that he was indeed relieving himself. A smile spread across my face as I thought of the perfect bait. Ramiel was a proud man, and I knew there was no way he was going to let this go, so I stealthily entered the restroom and tip-toed over to him. I peered over his shoulder.
“Well that’s not impressive in the slightest.” I said flatly.
He jumped a bit at the sudden intrusion and quickly zipped himself up and wheeled around. I snickered as I saw that he had been in such a hurry that he wet himself a bit. The combination of my presence, insult, and sly smile must have really ticked him off.
“What the hell are you doing in here!?!” He said, his voice a combination of anger and confusion.
“The girls and I were just talking about some of the guys, and drew straws to see who had to peek at who.” I shrugged. “But how disappointing, drawing the short straw.”
He frowned at me. “Hey!”
“Oh don’t worry, I only got a tiny peek.” I sneered.
He reached to stop me, but I took a quick step back and wagged my finger. “Nuh uh! I’ve got a small package of information I have to deliver to the rest of the girls!”
I quickly spun around and dashed out of the bathroom, and could hear him following only a few steps behind me.
“Hey, wait!” His voice now was slightly desperate, and I snickered.
“Sorry, Ramiel, I've got little time!” I continued.
I teased him the whole way back to his office, luring him to the trap I had set for him. Rounding a corner I immediately jumped over a pool of Machine Oil I had poured on the floor. I ran a few more steps before I heard him slip on it, not knowing it was there. I turned to look at him. He was trying to get back up, but only continued to slip on the substance until he was completely covered in it. I smiled, knowing that it was going to take a whole shift for him to clean it off; it stuck to skin like glue. I walked off, gathering my thoughts for the next phase of the plan.
At last I was facing the final boss, my brother. Gabriel was a focused man, and it would be hard to find something that would keep his attention for the rest of the night. I couldn’t just ask him, either, even though I knew he was rooting for me. He still wouldn’t like the thought of his little sister taking a roll in the hay.
My brother was an intelligent, religious person, and I knew it wouldn’t be easy to find a way to distract him. In fact, I hadn’t been able to come with anything so far, and it looked like I was going to have to wing it. I found him in a quiet room he often came to, and entered, pretending I was sad about something.
“Hey Gabe.”
He looked up from his copy of the Pax Amarria. “What’s wrong, Michaela?”
“Oh nothing,” I replied, keeping my eyes glued to the floor as I took a seat on a bench.
He closed his book and walked over to me, putting his arm around me as he sat down next to where I was sitting. “C’mon, you know you can talk to me. Is it about Raphael? Are you sad that he’s out with Nephanie?”
Ah, crap. Now I was starting to feel sad. I wasn’t really too worried about those two because I was certain that my plan was going to work out, but in order to do so, I needed to distract Gabriel, and he had shown genuine concern for me. Well, he was my brother after all.
“Sorta. I mean, she’s a true Amarrian, while I’m just an Ammatar, no better than slaves in the eyes of most.” I began to feel down as I started admitting all these things to myself, and grew a little less confident.
“I don’t think Raphael really cares. He’s known you ever since you were born, and he has shown interest in you.” Gabriel’s voice was soft, soothing.
“Yeah, ‘has.’ He hasn’t shown any since he met Nephanie. Plus, his father planned this out. Mr. Saint would never allow for Raphael and I to be together, even if Raphael did want to. All he cares about is business.” The reality hit me that even if my plan did work, there wasn’t a future. A tear rolled down my cheek, and Gabriel didn’t miss it.
“Aw, don’t worry Michaela. I’m sure things will work out for you, and if they don’t we’ll make them.” He turned and reached over with his other arm to give me a hug.
I stared a bit blankly at him. “Make them…? Are you saying….”
He nodded. “Yes. I’ll help you win Raphael over. I’ll talk to him tonight about it.”
I frowned. That wouldn’t do. I had done too much work already to just have Gabriel take up all of Raphael’s time tonight, even if it was for my sake. I needed to think fast. I couldn’t hurt him, he was my brother and I cared deeply for him. I didn’t have anything on hand to distract him with either. I sat there trying to think of something quickly when God came to my aid.
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Zakros.” A voice called out.
Both of us turned to see who it belonged to, and found one of the mining crew standing in the doorway.
“It’s a mess, Sir. The Udorians are passed out in the cafeteria, stinking of wine and lying on the ruins of a table, and there’s a big trail of machine oil leading from Foreman Seraf’s office to the locker room. It’s all over the place.” The miner seemed a bit exasperated, as if there had been quite a stir.
Gabriel stood up and sighed. “With the Chief Crew gone for third shift, I guess it’s up to me. I don’t want to bother Raphael with it when he gets back. He’s got to get up early for tomorrow.” He looked back down at me and smiled weakly. “I guess I’ll have to talk to Raphael later, sorry.”
I stared at him for a few seconds before shaking my head. “No problem.”
I couldn’t believe my luck as Gabriel followed the miner out of the room. It seemed like the third part had taken care of itself. I said a quick prayer to God thanking him for letting it all come together. Now it was game time, the home stretch. I couldn’t mess this part up, not with all the time and effort spent allowing for the chance.
I went back to my room to change. I needed something that would catch his eye. I looked over everything I had, but nothing fit the situation. Nothing said ‘Hey, remember me?’ I grew more and more frustrated as I tore though the small collection of outfits I had, until all that was left was an Aegis uniform and the undersuit for the mining gear. The uniform wouldn’t do, but the undersuit…
I quickly slipped it on. It was skin tight and left nothing to the imagination. That was good. I couldn’t rely on Raphael’s imagination any longer. I needed to hit him over the head with my feminity. I crept out of my room and slinked down the halls, trying to avoid anyone seeing me with everything on display. Quickly enough I made it to the bunk room where Raphael slept. I snuck inside and found it empty; just like I planned.
I sat on the bunk, wondering when it would be that he would get back. With Ramiel tied up washing himself and Gabriel stuck cleaning up my mess, Raphael would come straight here to get some much needed sleep. He wouldn’t get it, however. Not if I did things right. The door suddenly slid open, and looking up, I saw him standing in the doorway. I flashed him my best smile.
“Hey Raph, where were you?”
--
This is the second story in the "Pursuit of a Good Quarry" series, which originally had it's own blog, but I honestly didn't have a need to keep so many. There's only 3 blogs pertaining to Saint now, this one included. This is Michaela's view of one of the events in Ghosts, one of the original Miner Inconvienences stories before that name came to represent the blog it now adorns. The ending line has a little bit more meaning when cross-referenced with the Ghosts post.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Bar Hopping - Unknown
He thrust the doors open in front of him, taking a second to survey the room from the doorway. After sizing up the place, he walked on in, Ramiel and I following him. He and Ramiel had come here to get a drink. I came here to watch over them.
I took a second to survey the place as well, having never come here before. The place was a little dim and crowded. A long bar ran the length of the right wall, a couple of cloaked figures sitting at its end, with the rest of it inhabited by miserable looking figures. A group of loud imperial marines sat at a table in the back, with the rest of the tables occupied by groups of friends.
“Raphael,” I said as we took our seats at an empty table, “Why’d we come all the way out here?”
Ramiel turned to me a grinned a bit deviously. “You’ll see. This is a fun bar.”
I looked over to Raphael, expecting an answer from the one I asked, but all he did was nod and smile at Ramiel. I shrugged slightly, giving up on it. I guess I’d just have to wait and see. We started to make idle conversation as our drinks came, talking about business, money, and women. Ramiel mentioned Michaela, nudging Raphael and giving a wink. Raphael said nothing and looked away, not comfortable discussing my sister in such a way right in front of me. I secretly thanked him for it.
After a while, once we all had a few drinks in us, Ramiel set his glass down and elbowed Raphael. Raphael nodded, and looked to me.
“Gabriel, why don’t you go get us some more drinks from the bar.”
I gave him a strange look, wondering what the two of them could be up to. I sat for a moment wondering if I wanted to play along with them, or if I should trust my gut and not move. After a few moments of hesitation with both of them gazing at me, I finally relented and stood up.
I made my way over to the bar, bypassing a lot of Amarrians. The further I walked, the more I noticed that everyone at this bar was of the ‘True Amarrian’ ethnicity, and lots of them were giving me rather angry looks. However, I continued to the bar, determined not to let them deter me. I grew up here in the Empire. It was my home.
When I got to the bar, I gestured to the bartender and asked for the drinks. He sauntered over to me, giving me the eye as he did.
“You a slave?” He asked, looking me up and down.
“No,” I replied. “Can I have those drinks, please?”
I felt a hand clamp down on my arm and looked to see who it belonged to. A patron sitting at the bar had clamped his hand down on my upper arm and was now giving me a rather hateful look.
“Slaves aren’t served in here.” He growled as he spoke.
I frowned as I explained again that I was not a slave. “I am not a slave, never was, nor was my father or his father. I am an Ammatar, a proud, God-worshipping people.”
He was quick in his response. “A matar is a matar.”
I pulled my arm away from him, causing him to knock over his drink as his own hand was pulled along as he refused to let go. Immediately he stood up, glaring at me.
“Look what you did now, you useless slave.” His fist came fast.
Halfway between him and my face is when his fist stopped, having landed straight into the outstretched arm of someone standing to the side. I looked over to see who had chosen to intervene, seeing Ramiel. He had a smug smile on his face. A sudden thud made me snap my attention back to my would-be assailant. His head was on the bar, Raphael holding him down.
“He’s no slave.”
His friends got up from the bar, and I could swear Raphael and Ramiel traded a smile. Raphael spun around to plant a punch into the jaw of the nearest man while Ramiel delivered a sharp blow to my assailant’s ribs, causing him to fall off of the barstool and onto the floor.
I stood in complete shock as Raphael and Ramiel started into the brawl, taking hits and giving them right back. I heard the scooting of chairs behind me and turned around to see another group of Amarrians getting ready to get involved. It seems we were deemed the breakers of the peace, and were cast as the villains. I took a couple steps back, having never been in a fight myself and not wanting to get into one now.
However, my evasion was not to be and I felt an arm grab my shoulder, wheeling me around. I clumsily cocked my fist, hoping to land a surprise blow but Ramiel was swift in ducking me under his arm as he pushed me behind him and dove into the crowd.
Tackling one to the ground he delivered a few hits before he was dragged up by the others in the group. I looked around for Raphael, finding him involved in his own fight with a gang of Amarrians. I turned to the bar, spotting two large whiskey bottles sitting on it. Picking them up, I turned back to assist Ramiel.
He was being held by both arms by two Amarrians flanking his sides while a third delivered blows to his chest. Gathering all by strength and holding a bottle in each hand, I cocked both behind my head before throwing them at the Amarrians holding Ramiel in place. Both shattered on the backs of their heads in unison, causing Ramiel to drop to his knees as a punch meant for his face sailed over his head. It was the last thing I saw, however, as I soon was tackled from the side and tumbled over the bar with my assailant.
I hit the floor hard but didn’t have time to dwell on the pain as my tackler was soon on top of me, punches sharply impacting my sides. I brought my knee up, hitting him in the ass and sending his face into the wall behind me. His body went a bit limp and I shoved him off of me, getting to my feet.
I surveyed the brawl from behind the bar, noticing Ramiel and Raphael brawling back to back, fending off attacks while making opportunistic ones of their own. Both made sure to either block or take punches that would hit the other if they were to dodge.
Suddenly there was a large crash as a table turned over. I looked over in the direction it came from, and saw the group of marines stand. It looks like they had drunk enough to want in the fight as well. I prayed they would join our outnumbered side but my hopes fell as one dove over the crowd, landing on top of Raphael.
I was no fighter, but I knew I needed to help out. I decided to give in to the adrenaline pumping through me and leaped over the bar, landing feet first into one of the crowd. I let my arms fly wild, not really caring if I hit anything, just trying to do anything I could to disperse the gathering. One of the crowd grabbed me and dragged me away, a small portion breaking away from Raphael and Ramiel to tend to me.
Ramiel was taking quite a beating but was able to hold his own, making each of his punches count. Raphael, however, had the majority of the marines laying into him, and I saw one deliver a blow to the back of his head, causing him to fall to his knees. The marine in front of him grabbed a fistful of his hair and cocked a punch back, ready to deliver it to his face.
I was suddenly grabbed by the neck and picked up off the ground. There was a large Amarrian with hate in his eyes, his grip tight around my neck. I struggled for breath as I looked down at him, my hands on his wrist, trying to support myself and relieve the pressure.
“I’ve got you now, you worthless Matari. All of you should be exterminated,” he bellowed.
A shot glass zipped through the air and shattered on his temple, causing him to stumble a bit, but he kept his grip on me firm. We both looked over to where it came from.
The cloaked figures at the end of the bar calmly stood, bringing their hands up to remove their hoods. They were Matari! They shed off their cloaks, the uniforms of the Kameiras underneath. By the look in their eyes, they did not take to his words kindly.
They swept across the room, one running across the bar, jumping off of it to deliver a kick to the head of the giant Amarrian. His grip loosened and I fell to the floor, gasping. I looked up at the Kameira as he continued deftly delivering blows to the rest of the group and then quickly averted my gaze to look for Raphael and Ramiel. The other Kameira had assisted Ramiel, and now outpaced him as he flowed from one assault to another.
The marines stood around Raphael, watching the Kameiras move. Instead of delivering a punch to his face, the marine simply kicked Raphael square in the chest, letting him fall to the floor before the group walked back to their table, turning it upright and taking the liquor off of nearby tables before resuming their loud revelry.
The Kameiras made short work of the drunken crowd, Ramiel and Raphael eventually getting to their feet to help out. Soon it was only the five of us standing, the rest having either gone back to their drinking or strewn about the floor. I walked over to one of the Kameiras, rubbing my neck.
“Thanks for the help,” I said, my voice a bit raspy.
“No problem. If only these fools knew that not all of the Matari are garbage. How many of their own kind have fallen from the light of God?” he replied, his voice cool.
I nodded. “Well said, brother.”
Ramiel and Raphael staggered over, holding each other up, their faces bruised and bleeding, but smiling nonetheless.
“These are friends of yours?” The Kameira asked, a curious look on his face.
I nodded again. “Good friends. Some of the best I’ve ever had.”
The Kameira gave them a nod before joining his companion back at the bar, both of them donning their cloaks again. Ramiel threw an arm around my shoulder as the three of us started to walk towards the exit.
He flashed me a toothy grin. “Might want to rethink that ‘best you’ve ever had’ deal.”
I didn’t understand, and gave him a look that told him so.
Raphael peaked around from the other side of Ramiel. “We used you as bait to get a fight going.”
Blood flowed down from a cut above his eye, but smiled at me a bit sheepishly. I shook my head and looked forward.
“Maybe I will.”
--
This was the first of a set of stories written to expand the background information on Saint, but told from the point of view of another. That's the reason they aren't part of the Miner Inconvienences blog, as those are all either narrated by Saint or from a third person point of view. This one was told from the perspective of Gabriel Zakros, a Sebiestor who grew up with Raphael and became is lieutenant after Raphael took over his father's company.
Original posted date unknown.
I took a second to survey the place as well, having never come here before. The place was a little dim and crowded. A long bar ran the length of the right wall, a couple of cloaked figures sitting at its end, with the rest of it inhabited by miserable looking figures. A group of loud imperial marines sat at a table in the back, with the rest of the tables occupied by groups of friends.
“Raphael,” I said as we took our seats at an empty table, “Why’d we come all the way out here?”
Ramiel turned to me a grinned a bit deviously. “You’ll see. This is a fun bar.”
I looked over to Raphael, expecting an answer from the one I asked, but all he did was nod and smile at Ramiel. I shrugged slightly, giving up on it. I guess I’d just have to wait and see. We started to make idle conversation as our drinks came, talking about business, money, and women. Ramiel mentioned Michaela, nudging Raphael and giving a wink. Raphael said nothing and looked away, not comfortable discussing my sister in such a way right in front of me. I secretly thanked him for it.
After a while, once we all had a few drinks in us, Ramiel set his glass down and elbowed Raphael. Raphael nodded, and looked to me.
“Gabriel, why don’t you go get us some more drinks from the bar.”
I gave him a strange look, wondering what the two of them could be up to. I sat for a moment wondering if I wanted to play along with them, or if I should trust my gut and not move. After a few moments of hesitation with both of them gazing at me, I finally relented and stood up.
I made my way over to the bar, bypassing a lot of Amarrians. The further I walked, the more I noticed that everyone at this bar was of the ‘True Amarrian’ ethnicity, and lots of them were giving me rather angry looks. However, I continued to the bar, determined not to let them deter me. I grew up here in the Empire. It was my home.
When I got to the bar, I gestured to the bartender and asked for the drinks. He sauntered over to me, giving me the eye as he did.
“You a slave?” He asked, looking me up and down.
“No,” I replied. “Can I have those drinks, please?”
I felt a hand clamp down on my arm and looked to see who it belonged to. A patron sitting at the bar had clamped his hand down on my upper arm and was now giving me a rather hateful look.
“Slaves aren’t served in here.” He growled as he spoke.
I frowned as I explained again that I was not a slave. “I am not a slave, never was, nor was my father or his father. I am an Ammatar, a proud, God-worshipping people.”
He was quick in his response. “A matar is a matar.”
I pulled my arm away from him, causing him to knock over his drink as his own hand was pulled along as he refused to let go. Immediately he stood up, glaring at me.
“Look what you did now, you useless slave.” His fist came fast.
Halfway between him and my face is when his fist stopped, having landed straight into the outstretched arm of someone standing to the side. I looked over to see who had chosen to intervene, seeing Ramiel. He had a smug smile on his face. A sudden thud made me snap my attention back to my would-be assailant. His head was on the bar, Raphael holding him down.
“He’s no slave.”
His friends got up from the bar, and I could swear Raphael and Ramiel traded a smile. Raphael spun around to plant a punch into the jaw of the nearest man while Ramiel delivered a sharp blow to my assailant’s ribs, causing him to fall off of the barstool and onto the floor.
I stood in complete shock as Raphael and Ramiel started into the brawl, taking hits and giving them right back. I heard the scooting of chairs behind me and turned around to see another group of Amarrians getting ready to get involved. It seems we were deemed the breakers of the peace, and were cast as the villains. I took a couple steps back, having never been in a fight myself and not wanting to get into one now.
However, my evasion was not to be and I felt an arm grab my shoulder, wheeling me around. I clumsily cocked my fist, hoping to land a surprise blow but Ramiel was swift in ducking me under his arm as he pushed me behind him and dove into the crowd.
Tackling one to the ground he delivered a few hits before he was dragged up by the others in the group. I looked around for Raphael, finding him involved in his own fight with a gang of Amarrians. I turned to the bar, spotting two large whiskey bottles sitting on it. Picking them up, I turned back to assist Ramiel.
He was being held by both arms by two Amarrians flanking his sides while a third delivered blows to his chest. Gathering all by strength and holding a bottle in each hand, I cocked both behind my head before throwing them at the Amarrians holding Ramiel in place. Both shattered on the backs of their heads in unison, causing Ramiel to drop to his knees as a punch meant for his face sailed over his head. It was the last thing I saw, however, as I soon was tackled from the side and tumbled over the bar with my assailant.
I hit the floor hard but didn’t have time to dwell on the pain as my tackler was soon on top of me, punches sharply impacting my sides. I brought my knee up, hitting him in the ass and sending his face into the wall behind me. His body went a bit limp and I shoved him off of me, getting to my feet.
I surveyed the brawl from behind the bar, noticing Ramiel and Raphael brawling back to back, fending off attacks while making opportunistic ones of their own. Both made sure to either block or take punches that would hit the other if they were to dodge.
Suddenly there was a large crash as a table turned over. I looked over in the direction it came from, and saw the group of marines stand. It looks like they had drunk enough to want in the fight as well. I prayed they would join our outnumbered side but my hopes fell as one dove over the crowd, landing on top of Raphael.
I was no fighter, but I knew I needed to help out. I decided to give in to the adrenaline pumping through me and leaped over the bar, landing feet first into one of the crowd. I let my arms fly wild, not really caring if I hit anything, just trying to do anything I could to disperse the gathering. One of the crowd grabbed me and dragged me away, a small portion breaking away from Raphael and Ramiel to tend to me.
Ramiel was taking quite a beating but was able to hold his own, making each of his punches count. Raphael, however, had the majority of the marines laying into him, and I saw one deliver a blow to the back of his head, causing him to fall to his knees. The marine in front of him grabbed a fistful of his hair and cocked a punch back, ready to deliver it to his face.
I was suddenly grabbed by the neck and picked up off the ground. There was a large Amarrian with hate in his eyes, his grip tight around my neck. I struggled for breath as I looked down at him, my hands on his wrist, trying to support myself and relieve the pressure.
“I’ve got you now, you worthless Matari. All of you should be exterminated,” he bellowed.
A shot glass zipped through the air and shattered on his temple, causing him to stumble a bit, but he kept his grip on me firm. We both looked over to where it came from.
The cloaked figures at the end of the bar calmly stood, bringing their hands up to remove their hoods. They were Matari! They shed off their cloaks, the uniforms of the Kameiras underneath. By the look in their eyes, they did not take to his words kindly.
They swept across the room, one running across the bar, jumping off of it to deliver a kick to the head of the giant Amarrian. His grip loosened and I fell to the floor, gasping. I looked up at the Kameira as he continued deftly delivering blows to the rest of the group and then quickly averted my gaze to look for Raphael and Ramiel. The other Kameira had assisted Ramiel, and now outpaced him as he flowed from one assault to another.
The marines stood around Raphael, watching the Kameiras move. Instead of delivering a punch to his face, the marine simply kicked Raphael square in the chest, letting him fall to the floor before the group walked back to their table, turning it upright and taking the liquor off of nearby tables before resuming their loud revelry.
The Kameiras made short work of the drunken crowd, Ramiel and Raphael eventually getting to their feet to help out. Soon it was only the five of us standing, the rest having either gone back to their drinking or strewn about the floor. I walked over to one of the Kameiras, rubbing my neck.
“Thanks for the help,” I said, my voice a bit raspy.
“No problem. If only these fools knew that not all of the Matari are garbage. How many of their own kind have fallen from the light of God?” he replied, his voice cool.
I nodded. “Well said, brother.”
Ramiel and Raphael staggered over, holding each other up, their faces bruised and bleeding, but smiling nonetheless.
“These are friends of yours?” The Kameira asked, a curious look on his face.
I nodded again. “Good friends. Some of the best I’ve ever had.”
The Kameira gave them a nod before joining his companion back at the bar, both of them donning their cloaks again. Ramiel threw an arm around my shoulder as the three of us started to walk towards the exit.
He flashed me a toothy grin. “Might want to rethink that ‘best you’ve ever had’ deal.”
I didn’t understand, and gave him a look that told him so.
Raphael peaked around from the other side of Ramiel. “We used you as bait to get a fight going.”
Blood flowed down from a cut above his eye, but smiled at me a bit sheepishly. I shook my head and looked forward.
“Maybe I will.”
--
This was the first of a set of stories written to expand the background information on Saint, but told from the point of view of another. That's the reason they aren't part of the Miner Inconvienences blog, as those are all either narrated by Saint or from a third person point of view. This one was told from the perspective of Gabriel Zakros, a Sebiestor who grew up with Raphael and became is lieutenant after Raphael took over his father's company.
Original posted date unknown.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
"X" - 04/18/10
The small office was dark, the only light being a dim glow coming from an old lamp hanging above a desk. The room was still, silent, dead. A figure sitting in the chair reached forward, his arms coming into the light. He set two objects upon the desk; the bottle of whiskey making a sloshing sound as its half-drank contents mixed around from the disturbance, the other settling down with a heavy metallic thud.
“For a long time now, I’ve been fighting against you.”
The voice drifted from the darkness; strained, slowed and a bit slurred.
“Like a fool I thought I could win. Thought I had a chance.”
The voice was calm.
“I’ve fought for too long. I am tired.”
The defeat in the voice was absolute.
“You…”
The figure leaned forward, his face coming into the light now. Raphael looked exhausted, utterly drained. He hadn’t slept for days, unable to keep his thoughts off of what she had said. What she had done.
“I never thought you’d sink this low…”
His tone was weary, his words bitter.
“…to take from me the only thing I had left. The only thing I loved anymore.”
He fell back into the chair again, the darkness once again covering his face.
“You bastard. After all I’ve done for you. All I’ve accomplished in your name. Did it all mean nothing? Was I playing the fool in your grand opera?”
Raphael’s hand reached out and grabbed the bottle again, lifting it up into the darkness. When it reappeared moments later, it was only a quarter full.
“After I finish this, I’ll have nothing left.”
His hand lay motionless for a second before seizing into a fist. Suddenly he let out a laugh.
“It’s been a long journey. I appreciate you dragging it out for me. I appreciate driving the nails in slow.”
A moment of silence.
“So much wasted time. Running errands for the unappreciative.”
Suddenly his voice drifted through a range of emotions. Anger.
“So much I’ve done for her, so many sacrifices….”
Hopelessness.
“…I can’t help but think that if I had done just one thing differently…”
Mirth.
“…things could have been so much better…”
Sorrow.
“…why? Why? Why why why why why?”
Resignation.
“….”
Again the bottle is picked up and disappears into the darkness, returning at only an eighth full.
“I was ready to follow her to the depths of hell itself. I would have done anything for her. I gave her my absolute loyalty. Above myself, above the Empire, above you…”
Raphael lets out a small, weak laugh.
“Perhaps that was the problem.”
He is silent for a moment.
“Complete, utter loyalty. And what do I get? I have it thrown back in my face. For my hard work and selflessness I get…I get…news of another. To share herself with such a beast…”
His voice goes quiet as he can’t even process the thought, his mind spinning in circles trying to make sense of everything. Finally a soft, desperate whisper emanates from the darkness.
“How could you?”
The bottle is picked up once more, but this time it returns with the rest of him. Leaning forward he examines the other object on the table as he holds the bottle with his left.
“Congratulations, God.”
He picks up the hunk of metal, the grip fitting into his hand comfortably. He hefts it a few times, feeling its weight.
“You’ve won.”
Raphael set the bottle of whiskey back down on the table and leaned back, once again disappearing into the darkness, taking the pistol with him.
--
This was a possible 10th Confession for my main IC blog Confessions of a Saint, and was written before, based on some assumptions I had and some ideas that sprang from that. However, I decided that I didn't really like it too much and instead just kept it on file, writing what would become #10 around 2 weeks later.
“For a long time now, I’ve been fighting against you.”
The voice drifted from the darkness; strained, slowed and a bit slurred.
“Like a fool I thought I could win. Thought I had a chance.”
The voice was calm.
“I’ve fought for too long. I am tired.”
The defeat in the voice was absolute.
“You…”
The figure leaned forward, his face coming into the light now. Raphael looked exhausted, utterly drained. He hadn’t slept for days, unable to keep his thoughts off of what she had said. What she had done.
“I never thought you’d sink this low…”
His tone was weary, his words bitter.
“…to take from me the only thing I had left. The only thing I loved anymore.”
He fell back into the chair again, the darkness once again covering his face.
“You bastard. After all I’ve done for you. All I’ve accomplished in your name. Did it all mean nothing? Was I playing the fool in your grand opera?”
Raphael’s hand reached out and grabbed the bottle again, lifting it up into the darkness. When it reappeared moments later, it was only a quarter full.
“After I finish this, I’ll have nothing left.”
His hand lay motionless for a second before seizing into a fist. Suddenly he let out a laugh.
“It’s been a long journey. I appreciate you dragging it out for me. I appreciate driving the nails in slow.”
A moment of silence.
“So much wasted time. Running errands for the unappreciative.”
Suddenly his voice drifted through a range of emotions. Anger.
“So much I’ve done for her, so many sacrifices….”
Hopelessness.
“…I can’t help but think that if I had done just one thing differently…”
Mirth.
“…things could have been so much better…”
Sorrow.
“…why? Why? Why why why why why?”
Resignation.
“….”
Again the bottle is picked up and disappears into the darkness, returning at only an eighth full.
“I was ready to follow her to the depths of hell itself. I would have done anything for her. I gave her my absolute loyalty. Above myself, above the Empire, above you…”
Raphael lets out a small, weak laugh.
“Perhaps that was the problem.”
He is silent for a moment.
“Complete, utter loyalty. And what do I get? I have it thrown back in my face. For my hard work and selflessness I get…I get…news of another. To share herself with such a beast…”
His voice goes quiet as he can’t even process the thought, his mind spinning in circles trying to make sense of everything. Finally a soft, desperate whisper emanates from the darkness.
“How could you?”
The bottle is picked up once more, but this time it returns with the rest of him. Leaning forward he examines the other object on the table as he holds the bottle with his left.
“Congratulations, God.”
He picks up the hunk of metal, the grip fitting into his hand comfortably. He hefts it a few times, feeling its weight.
“You’ve won.”
Raphael set the bottle of whiskey back down on the table and leaned back, once again disappearing into the darkness, taking the pistol with him.
--
This was a possible 10th Confession for my main IC blog Confessions of a Saint, and was written before, based on some assumptions I had and some ideas that sprang from that. However, I decided that I didn't really like it too much and instead just kept it on file, writing what would become #10 around 2 weeks later.
"Broken Promises" - 11/03/2009
Stepping off of the shuttle, Raphael hefted his bag further onto his shoulder as he exhaled, happy to be back. He had promised her he would return, and now he had. She was waiting a mere fifteen minutes away, and soon he’d have her back in his arms. Feeling happy despite the disappointment his recent outing had been, he found himself humming slightly as he began the walk to her apartment.
The entire four weeks he was gone she had been on his mind, sometimes just below the surface as he focused on something else, but never was there no thought spared for her. Finally, he was returning to her, even if for only a short time. He was planning on making the most of it. Anytime either of them weren’t on patrol, he was hoping to spend together.
Entering into a large atrium that bisected a number of the floors in the station, Raphael looked up at the large, backlit dome. It illuminated the entire room, and was set to mimic the daylight cycle of the polar capital of the Ducia Family Refinery Corporation. It altered between twilight and midday; shining at the moment with the glow of a late afternoon sun.
Usually the place was full of militia pilots grabbing something to eat or some shut eye, but Raphael found it almost devoid of life. The only other person in the place was a lone pilot on the other side of the atrium; directly between Raphael and his destination. As he got closer, he recognized the lone figure.
“Garst! What’re you doing here?” Raphael asked in a friendly tone. He was glad to see familiar faces after being gone so long.
“Saint,” came his reply, his voice cool, calm.
“I thought you based out of Ohide, or had already moved out of the Empire entirely.” Raphael came to a stop to talk to his old friend. It had been a long while since the last time the two met face to face.
“I came to see you,” Garst smiled a bit, “and Shalee.”
Raphael cocked his head to the side. “Oh? How did you know I would be here? I haven’t told anyone that I was coming.”
“I’ve had a few friends tracking you on your journey.” Garst reached into his coat as if to retrieve something. “Did you think I wouldn’t keep tabs on my old friend?”
Raphael frowned a bit. “I hope you haven’t already talked to Shalee. It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Oh, she’ll be surprised alright.”
Raphael heard a loud bang and felt something hit him hard in the chest. He stood there for a second dumbfounded before slowly looking downwards. There was a small hole in his uniform where something had pierced it, and slowly reality dawned on him. He attempted to speak but all that came out was a bloody cough. He took a slight step backwards before collapsing.
Garst calmly took a few steps forward until he was standing over Raphael. “I don’t take kindly to betrayal, Saint.”
A look of confusion spread across Raphael’s face as he tried to comprehend everything that was happening. He tried to speak, to move, but his whole body had frozen from the pain.
“I loved her, Saint. You knew that. You used to defend me on it.” Garst was speaking calmly, wiping the gun down before tossing it into a bush nearby.
Raphael stared up at him, trying to speak, but was gagged by the blood that was quickly filling his mouth.
“But you stole her from me, and tried to marry her. You’re no friend.” Garst was reaching into his coat again.
Raphael couldn’t breathe. The bullet had torn through his Carina, and now breathing was impossible. Blood was filling both his lungs, and as he tried to speak, nothing but bubbles came up.
“Oh, have you something to say?” Garst feigned concern.
Raphael couldn’t speak, but he focused until his thoughts were clear. I’m not sorry for loving her.
“Slaver hound got your tongue?” Garst laughed. His hate had manifest, and he was enjoying himself. “I’ve got a surprise for you as well.” He tossed something onto Raphael’s chest.
Raphael willed himself to move, craning his neck up to see what had landed painfully on his chest. It was a datapad, its display lit up with a message.
KOR-AZOR FAMILY CLONING BUREAU
======
OWNER: SAINT, RAPHAEL
CONTRACT STATUS: CANCELLED
Garst laughed as he saw Raphael’s eyes widen at the message. “Friends in high places and all that.”
Raphael looked up from the data pad to Garst’s mirthful face. I’m sorry Shalee.
“Enjoy yourself, Saint. As for me, I’ve got to go console an old friend. You know how vulnerable women are after a loss.” He laughed again as he turned away and began walking towards Shalee’s apartment.
Raphael watched him for as long as he could, still craning his neck, straining against the pain. His vision was growing dark, his body growing cold, and thoughts starting to blur. Laying his head back down, Raphael closed his eyes for the last time.
--
Another one of my "inspired" stories (because I am an unoriginal hack), this story was inspired by the song "Rote Sand" by Rammstein, and was written as a fun little 'what if' for Saint's return from a leave of absence (as I had joined the Army and was going to basic training). Oddly, another story that could have been canon.
The entire four weeks he was gone she had been on his mind, sometimes just below the surface as he focused on something else, but never was there no thought spared for her. Finally, he was returning to her, even if for only a short time. He was planning on making the most of it. Anytime either of them weren’t on patrol, he was hoping to spend together.
Entering into a large atrium that bisected a number of the floors in the station, Raphael looked up at the large, backlit dome. It illuminated the entire room, and was set to mimic the daylight cycle of the polar capital of the Ducia Family Refinery Corporation. It altered between twilight and midday; shining at the moment with the glow of a late afternoon sun.
Usually the place was full of militia pilots grabbing something to eat or some shut eye, but Raphael found it almost devoid of life. The only other person in the place was a lone pilot on the other side of the atrium; directly between Raphael and his destination. As he got closer, he recognized the lone figure.
“Garst! What’re you doing here?” Raphael asked in a friendly tone. He was glad to see familiar faces after being gone so long.
“Saint,” came his reply, his voice cool, calm.
“I thought you based out of Ohide, or had already moved out of the Empire entirely.” Raphael came to a stop to talk to his old friend. It had been a long while since the last time the two met face to face.
“I came to see you,” Garst smiled a bit, “and Shalee.”
Raphael cocked his head to the side. “Oh? How did you know I would be here? I haven’t told anyone that I was coming.”
“I’ve had a few friends tracking you on your journey.” Garst reached into his coat as if to retrieve something. “Did you think I wouldn’t keep tabs on my old friend?”
Raphael frowned a bit. “I hope you haven’t already talked to Shalee. It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Oh, she’ll be surprised alright.”
Raphael heard a loud bang and felt something hit him hard in the chest. He stood there for a second dumbfounded before slowly looking downwards. There was a small hole in his uniform where something had pierced it, and slowly reality dawned on him. He attempted to speak but all that came out was a bloody cough. He took a slight step backwards before collapsing.
Garst calmly took a few steps forward until he was standing over Raphael. “I don’t take kindly to betrayal, Saint.”
A look of confusion spread across Raphael’s face as he tried to comprehend everything that was happening. He tried to speak, to move, but his whole body had frozen from the pain.
“I loved her, Saint. You knew that. You used to defend me on it.” Garst was speaking calmly, wiping the gun down before tossing it into a bush nearby.
Raphael stared up at him, trying to speak, but was gagged by the blood that was quickly filling his mouth.
“But you stole her from me, and tried to marry her. You’re no friend.” Garst was reaching into his coat again.
Raphael couldn’t breathe. The bullet had torn through his Carina, and now breathing was impossible. Blood was filling both his lungs, and as he tried to speak, nothing but bubbles came up.
“Oh, have you something to say?” Garst feigned concern.
Raphael couldn’t speak, but he focused until his thoughts were clear. I’m not sorry for loving her.
“Slaver hound got your tongue?” Garst laughed. His hate had manifest, and he was enjoying himself. “I’ve got a surprise for you as well.” He tossed something onto Raphael’s chest.
Raphael willed himself to move, craning his neck up to see what had landed painfully on his chest. It was a datapad, its display lit up with a message.
KOR-AZOR FAMILY CLONING BUREAU
======
OWNER: SAINT, RAPHAEL
CONTRACT STATUS: CANCELLED
Garst laughed as he saw Raphael’s eyes widen at the message. “Friends in high places and all that.”
Raphael looked up from the data pad to Garst’s mirthful face. I’m sorry Shalee.
“Enjoy yourself, Saint. As for me, I’ve got to go console an old friend. You know how vulnerable women are after a loss.” He laughed again as he turned away and began walking towards Shalee’s apartment.
Raphael watched him for as long as he could, still craning his neck, straining against the pain. His vision was growing dark, his body growing cold, and thoughts starting to blur. Laying his head back down, Raphael closed his eyes for the last time.
--
Another one of my "inspired" stories (because I am an unoriginal hack), this story was inspired by the song "Rote Sand" by Rammstein, and was written as a fun little 'what if' for Saint's return from a leave of absence (as I had joined the Army and was going to basic training). Oddly, another story that could have been canon.
"Old Friends" - 08/23/09
Shalee’s heels clicked as she walked along the pavement. Garst had just gotten back from a two week leave of absence. She was on her way to see him at the small get-together that was being thrown as a celebration. She reached the door to My Blue Heaven and pushed it open. Entering, she saw Garst and Raphael talking, laughing, and dressed in their Praetorian uniforms. They looked over as she entered Garst’s eyes widened as a grin spread across his face; Raphael waving her over with a friendly smile.
“It looks like we’re all a bit overdressed for this place,” Saint joked as Shalee joined them.
“Don’t listen to Saint. You look great, Shalee. Absolutely beautiful.” Garst said as he slid over, allowing Shalee to take a seat.
Always up for a compliment, Shalee flashed a smile and said thanks as she took a seat next to Garst. The three began to drink and converse, a cheerful mood permeating the conversation. Garst grew bolder the more he drank until he finally asked the question he had been wanting to ask all night.
“How’re things between you and Zenton?” he asked, looking at Shalee.
“Not well,” she sighed. “The last kiss I got was from Raph.”
Her eyes widened. She hadn’t meant to say it, it just slipped out. She looked over at Saint, who was busy looking to Garst, awaiting his reaction.
“What?” Garst asked, surprise in his voice.
“Garst….” Saint started, but was quickly cut off.
“Shut up, Saint.” Garst growled. He turned to look back to Shalee. “When did this happen?”
Shalee remained silent, not knowing what to say. Her silence only enraged Garst.
“Saint!” he yelled, leaping up and diving over the table. The rusty bolts holding Saint’s bench in place gave way and both of them tumbled backwards. They both wrestled for a second, Garst’s inebriation giving Saint a chance against his military training. They traded blows to the face and side until Garst finally got Saint in a chokehold.
“Damn you, Saint! Damn you! Is this how you treat your old friend? You make a move on the woman I love while I’m gone!?”
Saint attempted to choke out an explanation, but could only sputter as Garst throttled him. Shalee quickly ran over, trying to stop Garst. He took one of his hands off of Saint’s throat to brush Shalee off, giving Saint the opening he needed.
Throwing a punch to Garst’s jaw, Saint was able to knock him back enough to get his foot onto Garst’s chest, kicking Garst off of him. Still coughing, Saint stood up and pulled his gun from his holster, pointing it at Garst, who was still on the ground.
“Goddamnit, Garst, you wouldn’t even let us explain!?” Saint yelled, his voice hoarse. “Have I not earned your trust? You don’t even give me a chance to speak, you just go for the throat and try to kill me!?” There was a mix of anger and hurt in his voice.
“Put the gun down, Saint.” Garst growled, loathing dripping from every word.
“Goddamnit! I’m not going to kill you, you hateful bastard. But god help me, I’ll shoot you if you so much as move. I’m getting the hell out of here. We can talk once you’ve cooled down.”
Garst reached for his pistol. Unable to shoot his friend, Saint hesitated, his trigger finger twitching but otherwise remaining still.
“You stay right the fuck there!” Garst yelled, training his pistol on Saint.
“Goddamnit.” Saint muttered, unable to think of anything but this short prayer.
The two kept their pistols on each other, Saint standing while Garst lie on the floor. Shalee stood pressed against the wall, wanting to say something but finding her voice gone.
Suddenly a shot rang out and both Garst and Saint began emptying their guns into each other, each of them shuddering as each round struck their body. Once the gunfire stopped, Garst lie dying in a pool of blood as Raphael fell backwards and began doing the same.
Shalee slid to the floor against the wall, her hands, shaking, slowly making their way to her mouth to hold back the scream that was quickly rising in her throat.
--
This story was a fun little one that I wrote for Shalee Lianne during the "affair" part of the relationship between our two characters. I had just come off of an "Inglourious Basterds" high, and wrote this in spirit of the shootout in the basement bar.
“It looks like we’re all a bit overdressed for this place,” Saint joked as Shalee joined them.
“Don’t listen to Saint. You look great, Shalee. Absolutely beautiful.” Garst said as he slid over, allowing Shalee to take a seat.
Always up for a compliment, Shalee flashed a smile and said thanks as she took a seat next to Garst. The three began to drink and converse, a cheerful mood permeating the conversation. Garst grew bolder the more he drank until he finally asked the question he had been wanting to ask all night.
“How’re things between you and Zenton?” he asked, looking at Shalee.
“Not well,” she sighed. “The last kiss I got was from Raph.”
Her eyes widened. She hadn’t meant to say it, it just slipped out. She looked over at Saint, who was busy looking to Garst, awaiting his reaction.
“What?” Garst asked, surprise in his voice.
“Garst….” Saint started, but was quickly cut off.
“Shut up, Saint.” Garst growled. He turned to look back to Shalee. “When did this happen?”
Shalee remained silent, not knowing what to say. Her silence only enraged Garst.
“Saint!” he yelled, leaping up and diving over the table. The rusty bolts holding Saint’s bench in place gave way and both of them tumbled backwards. They both wrestled for a second, Garst’s inebriation giving Saint a chance against his military training. They traded blows to the face and side until Garst finally got Saint in a chokehold.
“Damn you, Saint! Damn you! Is this how you treat your old friend? You make a move on the woman I love while I’m gone!?”
Saint attempted to choke out an explanation, but could only sputter as Garst throttled him. Shalee quickly ran over, trying to stop Garst. He took one of his hands off of Saint’s throat to brush Shalee off, giving Saint the opening he needed.
Throwing a punch to Garst’s jaw, Saint was able to knock him back enough to get his foot onto Garst’s chest, kicking Garst off of him. Still coughing, Saint stood up and pulled his gun from his holster, pointing it at Garst, who was still on the ground.
“Goddamnit, Garst, you wouldn’t even let us explain!?” Saint yelled, his voice hoarse. “Have I not earned your trust? You don’t even give me a chance to speak, you just go for the throat and try to kill me!?” There was a mix of anger and hurt in his voice.
“Put the gun down, Saint.” Garst growled, loathing dripping from every word.
“Goddamnit! I’m not going to kill you, you hateful bastard. But god help me, I’ll shoot you if you so much as move. I’m getting the hell out of here. We can talk once you’ve cooled down.”
Garst reached for his pistol. Unable to shoot his friend, Saint hesitated, his trigger finger twitching but otherwise remaining still.
“You stay right the fuck there!” Garst yelled, training his pistol on Saint.
“Goddamnit.” Saint muttered, unable to think of anything but this short prayer.
The two kept their pistols on each other, Saint standing while Garst lie on the floor. Shalee stood pressed against the wall, wanting to say something but finding her voice gone.
Suddenly a shot rang out and both Garst and Saint began emptying their guns into each other, each of them shuddering as each round struck their body. Once the gunfire stopped, Garst lie dying in a pool of blood as Raphael fell backwards and began doing the same.
Shalee slid to the floor against the wall, her hands, shaking, slowly making their way to her mouth to hold back the scream that was quickly rising in her throat.
--
This story was a fun little one that I wrote for Shalee Lianne during the "affair" part of the relationship between our two characters. I had just come off of an "Inglourious Basterds" high, and wrote this in spirit of the shootout in the basement bar.
"Thirsty Saint" - 09/15/09
Raphael Saint cursed, the rest of his vocabulary having left him long ago. His temper has getting the best of him, but few would blame him given his current situation. Sweat ran down his entire body, his armor having been shed hours ago. It seared his skin in the blistering heat of the engine room. His undersuit had been discarded as well, having done little more than trap the heat inside. He pondered whether the outfit he came into the world wearing would be the one he left it in as well.
Steam poured up from the metal grates that constituted the floor, turning the small maintenance room into the sauna from hell. The only light came from the glowing coils of a nearby engine. Using his undersuit as a sort of oven mitt, Raphael picked up his metal flask and unscrewed the cap. He was treated to a small blast of hot air, and then held the flask over his head, preparing to pour his favorite refreshment into his waiting mouth. Instead, he felt a thick paste flow onto his tongue with a heavy taste of whiskey. Spitting it aside, he cursed his luck. His only drink had evaporated, leaving him with only highly concentrated fermented goo.
Tossing the flask aside, Saint leaned back against the wall behind him, his head tilted up staring at the ceiling. His mind began to wander over all the different types of drinks there was to be had, just out of his reach; Whiskey, Malt Whiskey, Whiskey Sour, Lossian Amber (a whiskey). Now, he wasn’t an alcoholic; not anymore at least. Alcoholics drink to get drunk, and too much drinking had given him too high a tolerance to get drunk anymore. He once drank to forget, but now was unable to. He once drank to relieve his stress, but there wasn’t enough drink for that anymore. Now he drank out of habit.
He had come down here to find more to drink. Having depleted his other stocks hidden throughout the ship over the course of the long journey, he had wandered in here looking for more only to lock himself in and remember that he had deemed this place long ago as unfit. The reason? It was too hot. Now he sat naked, cursing to himself and dying of thirst while he sweated out the last of his alcohol.
In case he was found, he started mentally going over his other hiding places. The bridge? No, he emptied that one last week. Behind the mirror in the men’s room? Nope, that one was gone yesterday.
He snapped his fingers, remembering the secret store he kept behind the “2 drink maximum” sign hanging in the mess. He had six or seven bottles in there; surely a couple should still be left. He cursed again, remembering that he had finished off the last one earlier that day. His mind quickly raced, trying to remember another location.
There was a hum as the electronic lock released on the door, and it slid open to reveal a figure standing in the doorway. Getting to his feet, Raphael blinked a couple times to adjust to the new light streaming in from the corridor. Walking over to the door, he sighed as he had to gently push the stunned crewwoman out of his way. Shaking a bit of the sweat off, he began walking away, in need of some fresh clothes. First, however, he needed to make a stop off at the ammo room. There were still two bottles of whiskey nestled between the ammo crates there.
--
You can't make fun of others without poking fun at yourself, and from that notion this story was born. It blows up Saint's wet habit, though at times this story could almost pass as canon as well. Who knows what you'll find at the bottom of a bottle!
Steam poured up from the metal grates that constituted the floor, turning the small maintenance room into the sauna from hell. The only light came from the glowing coils of a nearby engine. Using his undersuit as a sort of oven mitt, Raphael picked up his metal flask and unscrewed the cap. He was treated to a small blast of hot air, and then held the flask over his head, preparing to pour his favorite refreshment into his waiting mouth. Instead, he felt a thick paste flow onto his tongue with a heavy taste of whiskey. Spitting it aside, he cursed his luck. His only drink had evaporated, leaving him with only highly concentrated fermented goo.
Tossing the flask aside, Saint leaned back against the wall behind him, his head tilted up staring at the ceiling. His mind began to wander over all the different types of drinks there was to be had, just out of his reach; Whiskey, Malt Whiskey, Whiskey Sour, Lossian Amber (a whiskey). Now, he wasn’t an alcoholic; not anymore at least. Alcoholics drink to get drunk, and too much drinking had given him too high a tolerance to get drunk anymore. He once drank to forget, but now was unable to. He once drank to relieve his stress, but there wasn’t enough drink for that anymore. Now he drank out of habit.
He had come down here to find more to drink. Having depleted his other stocks hidden throughout the ship over the course of the long journey, he had wandered in here looking for more only to lock himself in and remember that he had deemed this place long ago as unfit. The reason? It was too hot. Now he sat naked, cursing to himself and dying of thirst while he sweated out the last of his alcohol.
In case he was found, he started mentally going over his other hiding places. The bridge? No, he emptied that one last week. Behind the mirror in the men’s room? Nope, that one was gone yesterday.
He snapped his fingers, remembering the secret store he kept behind the “2 drink maximum” sign hanging in the mess. He had six or seven bottles in there; surely a couple should still be left. He cursed again, remembering that he had finished off the last one earlier that day. His mind quickly raced, trying to remember another location.
There was a hum as the electronic lock released on the door, and it slid open to reveal a figure standing in the doorway. Getting to his feet, Raphael blinked a couple times to adjust to the new light streaming in from the corridor. Walking over to the door, he sighed as he had to gently push the stunned crewwoman out of his way. Shaking a bit of the sweat off, he began walking away, in need of some fresh clothes. First, however, he needed to make a stop off at the ammo room. There were still two bottles of whiskey nestled between the ammo crates there.
--
You can't make fun of others without poking fun at yourself, and from that notion this story was born. It blows up Saint's wet habit, though at times this story could almost pass as canon as well. Who knows what you'll find at the bottom of a bottle!
"Only Garst" - 08/04/09
There was a sharp buzzing noise that invaded his consciousness. Garst Tyrell slowly opened his eyes, blinking a couple times at the bright sunlight coming in through the windows. Subconsciously Garst reached over and turned his alarm clock off, years of the ritual making it a habit.
He sat up, and took in the sights around him. Everything was just how he left it the night before. The single items around his suite were telltale signs of a bachelor. One chair, one pillow, one set of dining ware. Garst got up and went about his morning routine of getting ready. He stepped into his shower, washing himself completely before stepping out and reaching for the single towel on the rack. After drying himself he wrapped the towel around his waist and, picking up the lone toothbrush, he brushed his teeth. Afterwards he reached for the comb, but looking into the mirror he stopped, and sighed a little inside.
Once dressed, Garst walked over to his personal communication device, and checked for any messages.
“No New Messages,” the slightly robotic voice announced. Garst stared down at the bright ‘0’ on the display, thinking to himself that he never remembered anything different. Heaving a heavy sigh, Garst walked away, moving on to the next task at hand.
While going through the files on his data pad, Garst walked over to the giant picture window that provided light to almost his entire suite. He looked out, gazing upon the bustling of the city below. In the streets he could see couples walking, business partners chatting, and teams of workers providing the services the city depended on to function. Looking into the sky, Garst noticed two Dori Hawks flying in circles around each other, beginning the elaborate mating dance that will end in a nest full of eggs.
Pulling himself away from the morning vista, Garst turned back around and began going over his files again, records of his lone wolf hunts and single ship fights. He sat back down on his bed, and after completing his check, put the data pad away back into his pocket. He took another look around his room, isolated from the rest of the inhabitants of the tower. He pulled the solitary pair of boots from under his bed, placed his feet inside of them, and began lacing them up to insure a tight fit. He thought about the solo run was planning on making today and placed his head into his hands.
Through the heavy sobs, a single word, almost incomprehensible, could be heard. “Alone.”
--
This story was originally written way back in August of '09 (as stated in the title), and was a joke story I wrote for my friend Garst Tyrell. Oddly enough this story could almost pass as canon for the character he now plays when he does RP.
He sat up, and took in the sights around him. Everything was just how he left it the night before. The single items around his suite were telltale signs of a bachelor. One chair, one pillow, one set of dining ware. Garst got up and went about his morning routine of getting ready. He stepped into his shower, washing himself completely before stepping out and reaching for the single towel on the rack. After drying himself he wrapped the towel around his waist and, picking up the lone toothbrush, he brushed his teeth. Afterwards he reached for the comb, but looking into the mirror he stopped, and sighed a little inside.
Once dressed, Garst walked over to his personal communication device, and checked for any messages.
“No New Messages,” the slightly robotic voice announced. Garst stared down at the bright ‘0’ on the display, thinking to himself that he never remembered anything different. Heaving a heavy sigh, Garst walked away, moving on to the next task at hand.
While going through the files on his data pad, Garst walked over to the giant picture window that provided light to almost his entire suite. He looked out, gazing upon the bustling of the city below. In the streets he could see couples walking, business partners chatting, and teams of workers providing the services the city depended on to function. Looking into the sky, Garst noticed two Dori Hawks flying in circles around each other, beginning the elaborate mating dance that will end in a nest full of eggs.
Pulling himself away from the morning vista, Garst turned back around and began going over his files again, records of his lone wolf hunts and single ship fights. He sat back down on his bed, and after completing his check, put the data pad away back into his pocket. He took another look around his room, isolated from the rest of the inhabitants of the tower. He pulled the solitary pair of boots from under his bed, placed his feet inside of them, and began lacing them up to insure a tight fit. He thought about the solo run was planning on making today and placed his head into his hands.
Through the heavy sobs, a single word, almost incomprehensible, could be heard. “Alone.”
--
This story was originally written way back in August of '09 (as stated in the title), and was a joke story I wrote for my friend Garst Tyrell. Oddly enough this story could almost pass as canon for the character he now plays when he does RP.
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