Post by Jason Thornvaald on Oct 29, 2008 9:42:35 GMT -5
Thorn sighed as he went over a few potential job offers, though his mind wasn't really on the task. Tensions were running high on his ship due to his recent actions--which most of his crew saw as weak, pointless and insane, especially as they themselves received no immediate benefit from it. After all, why rush to the aid of a crew who had beaten them and swindled them on multiple occasions? They couldn't and wouldn't understand the fact that their Captain was currently suffering from a case of guilty heart-sickness, and that he was doing his damndest to try and make it up to Andromeda however he could.
Even if it meant helping the man she loved more than him in the process.
Thorn had been forced to put down one of his longer-standing crewmen over the argument that had arisen because of his orders. He felt no remorse for it, save for the loss of a fairly competent man, a hard-to-come-by resource in this business. Fraser had questioned his authority in front of the entire crew, had flat-out refused his orders and insulted him to his face. An unforgivable sin in their world. Scarsgard's punishment had been immediate and without hesitation, gutting the stunned bastard with his sword on the spot, kicking the body from his blade and then demanding in a low, cold voice if anyone else wanted to question his command today.
None of them had spoken up, wisely enough.
The door to his cabin suddenly opened, and Lyra poked her head inside.
"Transmission, sir," she pronounced. "From the Plunder's Heart. I believe it's Captain Hart, wanting a private word with you."
Thorn sighed, then nodded. "Have it patched through back here," he agreed. Lyra nodded, then left again. A moment later his communication terminal flickered to life. Thorn blinked somewhat stupidly at the slender, redheaded woman grinning at him on the other side, a familiar black patch covering her right eye.
"Hello, Scarsgard. This is Captain Hart. Josetta Hart," she clarified. "I just wanted to thank you for the assist against the convoy. It was a damned decent thing of you to do, especially given my . . . temper at our last meeting. You didn't have to do it, but you did, and I sincerely thank you."
Thorn just gaped at her, his brain still trying to come to grips with what he was seeing. Captain Hart was a woman. The one person in this whole entire solar system who bested him at every single damn thing he tried, was a goddamned woman.
Jesus, I think I'm gonna be sick . . . .
"You alright Thorn?" Hart questioned, trying and failing to keep the teasing smirk off her face. "You look like something foul just walked over your grave."
"You're welcome," he finally managed to snap out, tone hoarse, before he cut the communication with a wrench. Then he jerked his desk drawer open and yanked out a full bottle of rum. He needed to get drunk. Right now. So drunk he forgot his own name. Maybe then the embarrassed humiliation eating his gut would start to subside.
Good God, when this got out to the rest of the galaxy . . . .
Thorn cracked the top and tipped the bottle.
Even if it meant helping the man she loved more than him in the process.
Thorn had been forced to put down one of his longer-standing crewmen over the argument that had arisen because of his orders. He felt no remorse for it, save for the loss of a fairly competent man, a hard-to-come-by resource in this business. Fraser had questioned his authority in front of the entire crew, had flat-out refused his orders and insulted him to his face. An unforgivable sin in their world. Scarsgard's punishment had been immediate and without hesitation, gutting the stunned bastard with his sword on the spot, kicking the body from his blade and then demanding in a low, cold voice if anyone else wanted to question his command today.
None of them had spoken up, wisely enough.
The door to his cabin suddenly opened, and Lyra poked her head inside.
"Transmission, sir," she pronounced. "From the Plunder's Heart. I believe it's Captain Hart, wanting a private word with you."
Thorn sighed, then nodded. "Have it patched through back here," he agreed. Lyra nodded, then left again. A moment later his communication terminal flickered to life. Thorn blinked somewhat stupidly at the slender, redheaded woman grinning at him on the other side, a familiar black patch covering her right eye.
"Hello, Scarsgard. This is Captain Hart. Josetta Hart," she clarified. "I just wanted to thank you for the assist against the convoy. It was a damned decent thing of you to do, especially given my . . . temper at our last meeting. You didn't have to do it, but you did, and I sincerely thank you."
Thorn just gaped at her, his brain still trying to come to grips with what he was seeing. Captain Hart was a woman. The one person in this whole entire solar system who bested him at every single damn thing he tried, was a goddamned woman.
Jesus, I think I'm gonna be sick . . . .
"You alright Thorn?" Hart questioned, trying and failing to keep the teasing smirk off her face. "You look like something foul just walked over your grave."
"You're welcome," he finally managed to snap out, tone hoarse, before he cut the communication with a wrench. Then he jerked his desk drawer open and yanked out a full bottle of rum. He needed to get drunk. Right now. So drunk he forgot his own name. Maybe then the embarrassed humiliation eating his gut would start to subside.
Good God, when this got out to the rest of the galaxy . . . .
Thorn cracked the top and tipped the bottle.