Post by Jason Thornvaald on Oct 25, 2008 23:10:22 GMT -5
Thorn Scarsgard, Captain of the Mjollnir, second-most feared Pirate Captain flying the skies, slowly eased himself down into the well-worn chair behind his desk. He released a long, bone-weary sigh, scrubbing a little at his face before dropping it onto the surface of his desk with a thump.
This kind of thing played hell on a man's ego.
This was supposed to have been one of his biggest takes. It wasn't every day you managed to 'nap a member of one of the wealthiest families in the solar system. And now, where did he sit? Completely empty-handed--no money, no hostage--his ship was torn all to hell with the engineer crying that it would take days to repair, and his First Mate nursing a cracked skull.
What did it say about him, that the last one was the only one that really gave him any pause of annoyance? Was he losing his edge? Here lately, all the things that used to pump him up with excitement and adventure just made him tired and listless. He was thirty-two years old, after all. Fuck. What if he was hitting a mid-life crisis?
Thorn sat back, eying drawer that held his stash of spiced rum. Right now seemed like the perfect time to get drunk. He paused for a moment more before reaching for the drawer and yanking it open. What the hell. You only lived once. The Norse-blooded pirate Captain popped the cork and then took a healthy swill, grimacing at the burning fire that raced down his throat afterward.
Unwillingly his thoughts turned toward the woman. 'Andi,' she'd called herself. He doubted very seriously if that was her real name or, if it was, it wasn't all of it. He snorted. Not for nothing, she had looked more than fine. Like a sultry little sex kitten to be precise. Which was why he'd made the mistaken assumption that she must have been some lecherous pirate's slave-girl, from the way her stubborn, intelligent eyes clashed so hard with her sultry appearance, and how she seemed so comfortable among pirates but so obviously disliked them.
Instead she ended up being one of Hart's, whether an actual crew-member or just another one of his hundreds of groupies. It didn't really matter, he supposed. He'd still been duped like a fresh-faced kid. And all because of a pair of soft gold eyes and legs that could reach from here to Callisto and back--,
Thorn was interrupted out of that train-wreck of a thought process by the door to his cabin suddenly opening. Only one person was brave enough to enter his room without knocking or letting their presence be known. Sure enough, his First Mate and childhood friend--hell, might as well have been his little sister--Lyra stepped inside. She had an ice-pack held to the back of her head, her pale eyes still narrowed into furious slits.
"Did you manage to kick Fergus' ass into any more of a rush?"
"Aye, sir," she murmured, her voice surprisingly soft and lyrical with her more pronounced Norwegian accent. "I told him that if he did not get this ship running within eight hours, I was going to rewire the engines myself with his entrails. He took the hint, Captain."
Thorn snorted, then slid the bottle across the desk. Lyra took it, taking a long pull of the drink herself. Thorn couldn't resist, and gave her a slight, teasing smirk.
"So . . . you manage to get past first base with that guy yet?"
Thorn reached up and snatched the bottle she tossed back at him, a deft skill with his hands managing not to spill even a drop of the precious liquid. He barked with laughter instead. Lyra just glared at him, though having known her for so long, he recognized the faint hint of pink coming up on her cheeks.
Lyra did a very good job of pretending like she wasn't a woman most of the time, in order to succeed in their world. Her size and her skill as a fighter usually helped convince everyone else that this was the case. Yet that crazy-assed boarder crewman of Hart's . . . Dane, Thorn thought his name was, somehow managed to get under her skin. He figured she'd end up in bed with him eventually, that is if the two didn't kill each other first. Right now the pot was about even on that bet.
"Do we have any idea what we'll be doing next, sir?" Lyra suddenly questioned, turning all business again. Thorn sighed.
Did he even want to do anything next? Was there a point? Then he smirked a little before reaching for his data pad and bringing up his list of potential jobs. He'd been a pirate all his life. His father had been a pirate. His grandfather had been a pirate. He'd probably be a pirate until the day he died, whether sooner or later was up to the Gods themselves.
Thorn thumbed through a few takes, then accessed one and turned the pad to Lyra, showing her a large supply frigate. "There," he murmured. "That's our next take. Get me a flight plan, and cargo manifest." She turned to leave, but before she did, he suddenly called, "Oh, and Lyra, get me Aphrodite on the line. I've got a few questions for her concerning the identity of our mystery woman, and her exact connections to Hart."
If Lyra was surprised by his request, she didn't show it. After the door had closed, Thorn smiled to himself, sitting back in his chair and raising the bottle of rum to his lips again.
Yo ho, yo ho, it's a pirate's life for me . . . .
This kind of thing played hell on a man's ego.
This was supposed to have been one of his biggest takes. It wasn't every day you managed to 'nap a member of one of the wealthiest families in the solar system. And now, where did he sit? Completely empty-handed--no money, no hostage--his ship was torn all to hell with the engineer crying that it would take days to repair, and his First Mate nursing a cracked skull.
What did it say about him, that the last one was the only one that really gave him any pause of annoyance? Was he losing his edge? Here lately, all the things that used to pump him up with excitement and adventure just made him tired and listless. He was thirty-two years old, after all. Fuck. What if he was hitting a mid-life crisis?
Thorn sat back, eying drawer that held his stash of spiced rum. Right now seemed like the perfect time to get drunk. He paused for a moment more before reaching for the drawer and yanking it open. What the hell. You only lived once. The Norse-blooded pirate Captain popped the cork and then took a healthy swill, grimacing at the burning fire that raced down his throat afterward.
Unwillingly his thoughts turned toward the woman. 'Andi,' she'd called herself. He doubted very seriously if that was her real name or, if it was, it wasn't all of it. He snorted. Not for nothing, she had looked more than fine. Like a sultry little sex kitten to be precise. Which was why he'd made the mistaken assumption that she must have been some lecherous pirate's slave-girl, from the way her stubborn, intelligent eyes clashed so hard with her sultry appearance, and how she seemed so comfortable among pirates but so obviously disliked them.
Instead she ended up being one of Hart's, whether an actual crew-member or just another one of his hundreds of groupies. It didn't really matter, he supposed. He'd still been duped like a fresh-faced kid. And all because of a pair of soft gold eyes and legs that could reach from here to Callisto and back--,
Thorn was interrupted out of that train-wreck of a thought process by the door to his cabin suddenly opening. Only one person was brave enough to enter his room without knocking or letting their presence be known. Sure enough, his First Mate and childhood friend--hell, might as well have been his little sister--Lyra stepped inside. She had an ice-pack held to the back of her head, her pale eyes still narrowed into furious slits.
"Did you manage to kick Fergus' ass into any more of a rush?"
"Aye, sir," she murmured, her voice surprisingly soft and lyrical with her more pronounced Norwegian accent. "I told him that if he did not get this ship running within eight hours, I was going to rewire the engines myself with his entrails. He took the hint, Captain."
Thorn snorted, then slid the bottle across the desk. Lyra took it, taking a long pull of the drink herself. Thorn couldn't resist, and gave her a slight, teasing smirk.
"So . . . you manage to get past first base with that guy yet?"
Thorn reached up and snatched the bottle she tossed back at him, a deft skill with his hands managing not to spill even a drop of the precious liquid. He barked with laughter instead. Lyra just glared at him, though having known her for so long, he recognized the faint hint of pink coming up on her cheeks.
Lyra did a very good job of pretending like she wasn't a woman most of the time, in order to succeed in their world. Her size and her skill as a fighter usually helped convince everyone else that this was the case. Yet that crazy-assed boarder crewman of Hart's . . . Dane, Thorn thought his name was, somehow managed to get under her skin. He figured she'd end up in bed with him eventually, that is if the two didn't kill each other first. Right now the pot was about even on that bet.
"Do we have any idea what we'll be doing next, sir?" Lyra suddenly questioned, turning all business again. Thorn sighed.
Did he even want to do anything next? Was there a point? Then he smirked a little before reaching for his data pad and bringing up his list of potential jobs. He'd been a pirate all his life. His father had been a pirate. His grandfather had been a pirate. He'd probably be a pirate until the day he died, whether sooner or later was up to the Gods themselves.
Thorn thumbed through a few takes, then accessed one and turned the pad to Lyra, showing her a large supply frigate. "There," he murmured. "That's our next take. Get me a flight plan, and cargo manifest." She turned to leave, but before she did, he suddenly called, "Oh, and Lyra, get me Aphrodite on the line. I've got a few questions for her concerning the identity of our mystery woman, and her exact connections to Hart."
If Lyra was surprised by his request, she didn't show it. After the door had closed, Thorn smiled to himself, sitting back in his chair and raising the bottle of rum to his lips again.
Yo ho, yo ho, it's a pirate's life for me . . . .