Post by Jason Thornvaald on Nov 24, 2008 15:03:59 GMT -5
The Mjollnir had finally been returned to full power two days later, which improved everyone's mood. Everyone except the Captain, who kept to his own quarters and threatened anyone who tried to bother him with violence. Even Lyra.
The tall woman sighed heavily as she made her way toward his cabin. They needed a destination, and the men needed some sort of direction. The mutters against Thorn were starting to get a little too loud for her peace of mind. She'd busted more than one nose over it the past day or so. If Thorn didn't get himself out of his slump soon, he was going to have a full mutiny on his hands. And the viking female knew that would only tear him up even worse.
Lyra stepped up to the door and opened it without preamble, immediately shivering hard at the frigid temperature inside. Thorn sat behind his desk, immune to the cold, a half-empty bottle of rum sitting in front of him and his long hair loose around his head, floating down near to his waist. The blue roots in his hair were standing out in more stark relief, with the freezing temperature. The tall man shot her a bleary, blood-shot glare.
"Get out, Lyra," he snapped, tone tired. The tall woman didn't even twitch an eyebrow, expression cool and determined.
"What's our heading, Captain?" she demanded. Thorn sneered.
"I don't really give a damn, Lyra."
"Obviously," she shot back, scowling. "However, unless you want to lose your ship to a mutiny, you need to get your big ass up out of that rut of self-pity and start acting like the Captain I know you can be, Jason."
"What kind of Captain is that, Ly?" he demanded roughly. "There's no room for second-best," he quoted one of his father's favorite sayings somewhat bitterly. Causing the tall woman to sigh loudly, torn between sympathy and exasperation.
"You have to stop torturing yourself. Stop castigating yourself over what you haven't accomplished, and be grateful for what you have. One of the best Pirates who's ever flown, seconded only by the freak of nature that is Josetta Hart." He sighed at that, grudging, staring down at his desk. Expression still ravaged, and she knew why, better than anyone else. Lyra's blue eyes turned soft, expression sad. "Uncle Helm would be proud of you, Jason," she whispered softly, earnest. "I know he would."
The tall man just shook his head, but reached up to scrub at his face. There was a long moment of silence, and then he suddenly dropped his hands and his face had taken on a more normal, faintly smirking stare.
"I thought I heard something about a prisoner being taken before we released from that freighter."
Lyra felt her face heat a little, but refused to give into the embarrassment. Instead she gave an equally smarmy smirk. "Aye, I managed to fetch us a hostage, Captain."
"Hmm. And how's the hostage doing, at the moment?" Lyra sighed.
"I was just about to go to his cell and start my interrogation." She crossed her arms behind her back. "If you hear him screaming, don't bother investigating."
Thorn eyed her in amusement, then, "and what if I hear you screaming?"
Lyra tried to deny it, but in the end she just grinned somewhat shamelessly. "Then definitely don't investigate."
Thorn groaned a little pitiably at that, covering his eyes with one hand. "I can't be hearing this," the man who might as well have been her big brother forced out painfully. Then he straightened again and shot her a determined stare. "Was that hail earlier from the Calypso?"
Lyra wasn't surprised that, even in his drunken, depressed stupor, very little occurred on this ship that Thorn didn't know about. She nodded.
"Aye, Eddie wanted to know if we'd be interested in teaming up with her on a job."
Thorn deliberated on that for a moment before nodding. "Before you lock yourself in Dane's cell, get her on the comm. for me."
"Aye, Captain," she agreed, turning on her heel after that and leaving the room, which was once again at a normal temperature. She stopped off onto the bridge to give Brenner the order to hail the Calypso and have her Captain--Edwina Thatch--open a comm. to Thorn's quarters. She stood there long enough to ensure that the sour-faced comm. officer would do as he was told before she turned away again and headed for the brig.
Moments later the heavy steel door was opened, revealing her hostage--Dane Marek--reclining back on the bunk. He looked no worse for wear after she'd clubbed him upside the head, only a small bruise still coloring the side of his face where the butt of her rifle had caught him in the temple. The infuriatingly attractive male turned his head a little, shooting her one of those heart-catching smirks of his, blue eyes dancing.
"Hey there, beautiful," he purred. "Finally decided to get with the interrogation, have you?" Lyra didn't say anything, not as comfortable with speaking to anyone but Jason. Yet Dane seemed to read her uncannily well, better than anyone else, and he chuckled at her conflicting stare. "Well alright baby, but I warn you. I'm a tough nut to crack." He sighed, sitting back a little and folding his muscled arms behind his head. "Do your worst."
Lyra eyed him for a moment longer before reaching back to slam the cell door shut with a loud, final bang.
The tall woman sighed heavily as she made her way toward his cabin. They needed a destination, and the men needed some sort of direction. The mutters against Thorn were starting to get a little too loud for her peace of mind. She'd busted more than one nose over it the past day or so. If Thorn didn't get himself out of his slump soon, he was going to have a full mutiny on his hands. And the viking female knew that would only tear him up even worse.
Lyra stepped up to the door and opened it without preamble, immediately shivering hard at the frigid temperature inside. Thorn sat behind his desk, immune to the cold, a half-empty bottle of rum sitting in front of him and his long hair loose around his head, floating down near to his waist. The blue roots in his hair were standing out in more stark relief, with the freezing temperature. The tall man shot her a bleary, blood-shot glare.
"Get out, Lyra," he snapped, tone tired. The tall woman didn't even twitch an eyebrow, expression cool and determined.
"What's our heading, Captain?" she demanded. Thorn sneered.
"I don't really give a damn, Lyra."
"Obviously," she shot back, scowling. "However, unless you want to lose your ship to a mutiny, you need to get your big ass up out of that rut of self-pity and start acting like the Captain I know you can be, Jason."
"What kind of Captain is that, Ly?" he demanded roughly. "There's no room for second-best," he quoted one of his father's favorite sayings somewhat bitterly. Causing the tall woman to sigh loudly, torn between sympathy and exasperation.
"You have to stop torturing yourself. Stop castigating yourself over what you haven't accomplished, and be grateful for what you have. One of the best Pirates who's ever flown, seconded only by the freak of nature that is Josetta Hart." He sighed at that, grudging, staring down at his desk. Expression still ravaged, and she knew why, better than anyone else. Lyra's blue eyes turned soft, expression sad. "Uncle Helm would be proud of you, Jason," she whispered softly, earnest. "I know he would."
The tall man just shook his head, but reached up to scrub at his face. There was a long moment of silence, and then he suddenly dropped his hands and his face had taken on a more normal, faintly smirking stare.
"I thought I heard something about a prisoner being taken before we released from that freighter."
Lyra felt her face heat a little, but refused to give into the embarrassment. Instead she gave an equally smarmy smirk. "Aye, I managed to fetch us a hostage, Captain."
"Hmm. And how's the hostage doing, at the moment?" Lyra sighed.
"I was just about to go to his cell and start my interrogation." She crossed her arms behind her back. "If you hear him screaming, don't bother investigating."
Thorn eyed her in amusement, then, "and what if I hear you screaming?"
Lyra tried to deny it, but in the end she just grinned somewhat shamelessly. "Then definitely don't investigate."
Thorn groaned a little pitiably at that, covering his eyes with one hand. "I can't be hearing this," the man who might as well have been her big brother forced out painfully. Then he straightened again and shot her a determined stare. "Was that hail earlier from the Calypso?"
Lyra wasn't surprised that, even in his drunken, depressed stupor, very little occurred on this ship that Thorn didn't know about. She nodded.
"Aye, Eddie wanted to know if we'd be interested in teaming up with her on a job."
Thorn deliberated on that for a moment before nodding. "Before you lock yourself in Dane's cell, get her on the comm. for me."
"Aye, Captain," she agreed, turning on her heel after that and leaving the room, which was once again at a normal temperature. She stopped off onto the bridge to give Brenner the order to hail the Calypso and have her Captain--Edwina Thatch--open a comm. to Thorn's quarters. She stood there long enough to ensure that the sour-faced comm. officer would do as he was told before she turned away again and headed for the brig.
Moments later the heavy steel door was opened, revealing her hostage--Dane Marek--reclining back on the bunk. He looked no worse for wear after she'd clubbed him upside the head, only a small bruise still coloring the side of his face where the butt of her rifle had caught him in the temple. The infuriatingly attractive male turned his head a little, shooting her one of those heart-catching smirks of his, blue eyes dancing.
"Hey there, beautiful," he purred. "Finally decided to get with the interrogation, have you?" Lyra didn't say anything, not as comfortable with speaking to anyone but Jason. Yet Dane seemed to read her uncannily well, better than anyone else, and he chuckled at her conflicting stare. "Well alright baby, but I warn you. I'm a tough nut to crack." He sighed, sitting back a little and folding his muscled arms behind his head. "Do your worst."
Lyra eyed him for a moment longer before reaching back to slam the cell door shut with a loud, final bang.