Guns 'n Booze 'n Talk
| Location: Log_Location::Thunderchild | IC Date: Log_IC_Date::2534/04/16 | OOC Date: Log_OOC_Date::2014/02/10 |
| Characters: Has Characters in Scene::Edison Trent, Has Characters in Scene::Hayden | ||
| Summary: Log_Short_Summary::Hayden and Trent have a discussion. | ||
She's settled at the dining table, in front of a layout that looks as if it was done by rote memory. A cloth set down, her handgun has been taken apart for cleaning and cleaning supplies are set out, military neat. Softly, she hums, some soft tune that can barely be heard. Her eyes are just a touch unfocused, as she goes through the motions of cleaning and oiling her gun. Not far from the cloth is a short glass that is filled with probably two or three shots worth of bourbon she was sipping from. It also appears as if she has just had a bath, wrapped in a kimono type robe, her hair still damp where it falls down her back and upon her shoulders. Her feet, bare. Behind one ear, is a handrolled...cigarette?
With the ship in lockdown while it's being upgraded on Persephone, (Specifically her engines and sensors.) it seems as if the entire crew is just trying to pass the time as best they can. Sadly, for a crewb like Hayden, it might seem as if there's plenty of downtime. But: Such is the lot for security and/or medical personnel. Time on the job tends to mean endless hours of boredom, occasionally interrupted by a few moments of absolute horror. There's a reason it's a curse in Mandarin, to wish someone 'lives in interesting times'. Interesting, in Asia on the 'Earth That Was' meant someone was having a bad day... Potentially and likely their last. Stepping out of his cabin, Trent rubs the back of his neck with his right hand, a headache pulsing through his temples like thunder in a storm. Hangovers do tend to do that. Cradling his left arm, it would appear as if someone used the left side of his face for a stepping stool, or at the very least, a trampoline, given how swollen his cheekbone is, how black his eye is and how very recently his cheek itself has been weaved. Passing the 'other' redhead that resides on the boat, the Captain pauses briefly, turning to eye the woman in relative silence, before he continues to the mess in order to retrieve a cup from the cabinets there. "You know," he murmurs, even as he grabs a bottle of sweet spring wine to pour himself a swallow. "Seamus see's you dressed like that, especially while handling weaponry, you might get a bit more attention than you'd find comfortable," he warns without even looking back. "Dunno how many shots it might take to stop that Gorilla."
Her fingers pause as you exit your bunk and sharp eyes focus, they focus on your beaten face and the wounds that she can see as well as the ones she can't see, that are given away by your body language. Sliding the bore brush down the barrel slowly, possibly with a little more sensuality than intended, she snorts. Granted, it's not a ladylike sound, but it sums up more than a few choice responses. "I have a lot of bullets." She says finally. There is the sound of things being laid down, picked up and she takes a sip of her whiskey, "Captain, I ain't never been one for pryin' inta other people's business but..." She licks her lips slowly, taking the rolled joint from behind her ear and seeking out the single pocket in her kimono for her lighter, "What the /hell/ happened to your face?" You hear a click and there is the subtle, sweet, slightly skunky smell of her smoke as she inhales deeply. Then, a heartbeat or three later, she exhales, "Unless of course, those are love marks."
Deciding to pour more than just one swallow, figuring he's really going to need it, Trent replaces the bottle of wine in the storage cabinets, before dragging his feet across the deckplates to the table, so he might slump down into his usual chair at the head of the table. The hell of it is: This is /after/ he's been patched up. He can actually move his arm to cradle it now, rather than just leaving it to hang limpy at his side, like the walking dead. Lifting the cup for his first swallow, he gingerly rests it down on the tables surface, followed shortly after by his left arm and hand, which thump unto the surface with a somewhat pained expression and a groan that can't be hidden. "like hell you aren't," he offers with a chuckle, rolling his eyes at the woman for the disclaimer she offers. "You can't play a player, sweetheart," he warns with a shake of the head. "As for the mess that is my pretty, pretty face..." He sighs, the corners of his lips cracking into a grin. "I cut myself shaving," he offers simply enough. "Or wait, I walked into a door. That's what it was. I walked into a door, while shaving." Quirking a brow when the scent of her joint reaching him, Trent merely peers at hayden again, his eyes slitting. "Not sure how Vanessa would respond to a left handed cigarette in her crew area," he murmurs, "But, since she's visiting her father, pass that shit."
She looks to the joint, tilting her head, as if to examine it anew. "This lil ol' thing?" She clicks her tongue, a small chastisement perhaps for Vanessa and her unacceptance before she passes it towards Edison. "Walking and shavin', it clearly ain't for you. Also you forgot the fallin' down the stairs part, that's an oldie but goodie." She begins to slowly put the gun back together, while you take your hit. There are soft sounds, clicks, the sound of metal settling into metal as she puts the weapon together. Tossing a bit of hair from her face, she dusts her hands together, reaching to take the joint back. "Besides, this..." She holds up the joint between her fingers, "Is no more dangerous, than that." She points to the glass of alcohol. "And when I said I thought scars were sexy I didn't think you were going to take it to that level darlin'." She drawls, shifting to cross her legs, flashing thigh as she does. "I mean really, the lengths some people will go to, to impress the new girl." She glances at you sideways, giving you a wink. "You want somethin' for that hangover, boss? Besides that hair of the dog you're drinkin' ?" If you notice, her toes are painted, bubblegum pink.
With a chuckle that causes him to lose a tuft of smoke, Trent finally bursts out in a cough that suggests he really hasn't smoked anything but cigarettes in quite some time. But, after that brief, if intense fit, he shrugs his shoulder (The right one) once, his head shaking. "Nah, I doubt she gives a damned," he admits with a lazy smile. "It was just a good way to steal a hit." Again, he hoists up his cup for a swallow, if only to wet his mouth before relaxing back once more to watch Hayden clean her weapons -- If that's what she's actually doing. Somehow, he looks dubious. "If it's scar tissue you find appealing, some day, I might have to make you tremble with a powerful want," he murmurs, half serious and half sarcastically. "Especially if skin grafting turns you on." Even /if/ he notices the little flashes and teases that're popping off, he's playing his hand incredibly damned close to his chest, not for a moment letting on that he even see's it. Indeed: not even his ears are flushing. Waving off the offer of something for his hangover, the Captain smiles thankfully. "If you can't do the time, don't commit the crime. Accepting would just be a weakness of consitution and character," he muses. "I've already got enough drugs in my system." Clearly, someone else did patch him up. "So. What do you think of the boat and the crew?" he finally asks. "I really haven't had much of a chance to ask yet."
The gun is returned to it's single piece state and set, somewhat lovingly, in the middle of the cloth she had spread out on the table. Now she leans back, taking another drag. As much as you cough and sputter, she seems to be a consume professional. Inhale, hold, exhale smoothly. "Tricky, tricky." She chides, as you remark about it being an easy way to get a toke. "And I like what I've seen so far. We haven't crashed, point for Fish. We're still eating real food, point for the XO and ... you know, maybe half a point for you. The mountain of flesh you pass off as a man hasn't made any rude remarks or broken down my door, so point for him." She takes another drag, exhaling after a moment and chasing this one with a sip of whiskey. "All in all, I can't complain. Cushy job, so far, which probably means, shit is about to blow up." she stretches out her legs a touch, putting her bare feet on the edge of your chair. "Got some shopping done, didn't get arrested, what more could a girl ask for? Well... a few more things, but we don't discuss that outside the boudoir."
If nothing else, the lone hit certainly seemed to smooth the young man out. Not that he's the type to get loud and stupid once he's high anyway. He /does/ have slightly more experience than that. More than he's willing to let on about, to be sure. "well... I am a Con Artist," Trent muses in reply to his tricky ways. As for crashing, he considers the statement, nodding once in agreement, "Near misses count as not crashing," he reasons aloud, not disputing that particular fact. "And Buddha knows, Vanessa can cook. Not sure what we'll do in a handful of days when she takes off for the day. She informed me she won't be cooking. I think it's her birthday, or something. I should really go snoop around in her cabin and find out," Thoughtfully, he quirks a brow at that idea, seeming to settle his mind. Yes, it's time to dig through her underwear drawer. Only after a moment of that particular thought is he interrupted by the foot, or more specifically the toes, that settle between his legs on the edge of his chair. Glancing down, he regards those simple, painted digits before again quirking a brow. "What exactly did I do to earn half a point?" he's forced to ask before he again draws his attention up directly to Hayden. "Oh, Seamus," he considers, letting his attention again wonder. "I'm still wondering if we can't trade him in, point or not," he admits. Shrugging, he finally offers the young woman a smile, a happy glint in his bright blue eyes. "My ship doesn't explode. It's a personal rule I have, it's not allowed." As to what occurs in her boudoir, he offers her, the same thing he offered Seamus, if a bit more teasingly. "Well, if you want, we can fly out to Freehold and find you a hooker too, like we did for Seamus. But my GOD he was unbearable for a few days," he laments, shaking his head pathetically. "I personally chastized Fish for you. The man hasn't got the balls for you, i don't think."
There is a blink, an astonished look that is usually done quite well and only by females when you state that you -think- it's her birthday. "You ...think?" She says, in a slightly scolding tone. "You two are up to exchanging love taps and you -think- it's her brithday? For shame, Captain, for shame." She says, shaking her head a little before she takes one more drag. Licking her fingertips, she carefully pinches it off, twisting the end and tucking it back behind her ear. Those little piggies that are between your legs? Perfect. She must have gotten a pedicure recently. "I figure you into the eating well equation." She says to him. Picking up her glass, she downs the rest of the liquid, "If we trade him in, you should get two for one on that deal. I could climb his shoulders and experience a change in climate." Returning the glass to the table, her fingers play idly around the glass rim. Oh yes, matching manicure. "And I can get laid on my own, thank you. Or at least, I can inquire about a companion on my own if it should come to that." She snorts softly, "No, the dear thing doesn't, he's more like a brother, than anything else. He's so very....sweet and quiet." She's trying to not make those two things sound like they're bad qualities, but they come out with a little bit of a bad taste anyway. "I would break him." She mutters, clearing her throat and raising up with a flirtatious whirl of kimono to refill her glass.
With a snort, Trent arches a brow pointedly at Hayden, his head shaking. "Love taps?" he asks curiously, disbelieving. "You know... They say all's fair in love and war, but honestly, that shit was a war. And she set out to hurt me," he admits at last. "I'm sure she felt a terrible woe after the fact, but don't for a moment think that woman isn't a seriously mean-spirited, freckled redhead." He smirks after, even if inwardly at himself. "As for the exchange, the only thing I exchanged was the skin of my face with the floor, when I fell on it." Yes. She beat his ass stupid. "She HAPPENS to be a very private woman, even with me. And frankly, she's been hiding her birthday from me. I think she's afraid that I'll figure out how old she is. Clearly she doesn't realize that young men really like Cougars," he admits with a wide, toothy grin. "You may tumble and play with a younger woman, but you keep the more experienced ones." He pauses, quirking somewhat awkwardly at the mention of him fitting into the eating well category, his brow again perked up curiously. Choosing to ignore the commentary on climbing Seamus, finding the very mental image of such a thing entirely disturbing, he offers rather bluntly. "You know. We can flirt all day, but it's really not gonna change much." Again, the hints of a grin thin his pale lips, their corners upturning wickedly. "As fun as you might be, and as much as I might love it... Well, let's just say it'd be a clash of the titans, Love." And at last he laughs out loud, the shake of his head amused, "I have to doubt you could find some twitterpatted, poor soul to satisfy your needs, never questioned that," he assures the redhead, knowing far too well how easy it might be. "But I question with serious conviction if you'd find a man worth keeping." Again, he finally lifts his cup for a last swallow of the sweet wine, the sigh that escapes his chest half amused and very, very frustrated. "Yes, I do believe you'd break him," he finally agrees without a hint of sarcasm. "There's only one man on this boat you wouldn't break. And I think it's killing you that you haven't conquered him," he muses matter of factly.
She refills her glass, returning to the table and crossing her legs. With care, she settles the silk against her thighs. A deep inhale and she casts a look to you akin to what a beloved puppy might receive when it's humping it's owners brand new Gucci shoes. It's a mix of irritation and amusement, "Captain, my captain..." She says, reaching out to pat your hand. "I could tell from the moment that I boarded this boat, and watched you and her, and listened to how you talked about her, that you're in love with her. Now while I am flirtatious, it is only in the most chased form because I... am not a whore. As a whole, women, as a species, do not share their toys, dear boy and I am sincerely and utterly not the kind to even attempt to take away the XO's. I respect her too much." She flashes a smile, setting down her refilled glass and letting her other hand rest lightly on her gun. Looking to the weapon, she caresses the barrel gently, pink nails looking a touch more pink against the black steel. With lowered lashes and a lowered tone that speaks of things best left between the sheets, she says, "And while you may think that every girl you pass and honor with that devilish smile and flippant tongue is wet between the thighs for you, I am not. You are amusing, you are devilish, and I appreciate our banter, do not mistake me, for one moment, for a woman who can't control herself."
Watching the fingers that pat his hand, Trent can't help but grin even wider. When Hayden addresses him by the title Captain, he simply pays her all the more attention, his saccharine sweet smile and the flutter of his lashes almost boyishly bright. "Mmmmn," he muses warmly. "I'll keep the whole toy thing in mind," he promises. "And I'll be sure to let you know when I become one." Noteably, he doesn't for a moment argue the fact that he's in love with Vanessa, indeed, he even nods his agreement. "Indeed, I am. Now, I may question why once in a while. I might even excuse it as stupidity or happenstance, but... I am. She is a very impressive woman." He does however almost look insulted, when the woman declares the fact she's not a whore. That's not something he even playfully implied. Moreover, that she believes he thinks that way of every girl he passes is just insulting. Surely, ugly, frumpy women don't count, right? Even still, he doesn't interrupt her monologue, letting her have the spotlight for the moment as he listens, learning more than even she might realize. "Well. All that just kinda makes you a tease, doesn't it?" he finally comments with a chuckle. "See, I think you've got me all crabbed. But this is a circular debate that's only gonna land me in the losing side, no matter what I say. You've angled yourself pretty well here," he admits. "And I have to admit I'm impressed. But, you fail to realize, all you did was paint yourself as insecure and a little lonely. I doubt that's /really/ the case. And honestly, I think you're protesting a little too much for someone who appreciates banter and little else." He shrugs simply, rolling his right shoulder once, even as he presses himself up from his seat with a grunt. "And trust me, that has a whole lot less to do with me and a whole lot more to do with you," he notes, even as he crosses the room to rinse out and leave his cup behind in the sink. "Not sure why you felt the need to defend yourself, Hayden, but I guarantee I never considered you in the way you described. I'm not remotely interested in whores. And I find you mighty tempting," he notes, even as he makes his way back across the crew area. Only this time, he continues on towards his door. "Mighty tempting. Incredibly smart and damned desireable." Pausing to turn back to face the woman, he simply offers her a half bow of respect. "We're in port for a couple of days more. Why don't you go have some fun in the city," he suggests with a smile, before opening the hatch to his cabin. "Folks are liable to get addlepatted, just sitting on the boat."
