Some wood, a few nails, up for the night!
Somehow, 2:30 p.m. ship time doesn't feel at /all/ like it, given the Thunderchild just left Persephone time. As such, Trent marches himself into the Crew area so that he might find a source of caffine, even if he's forced to make a pot of coffee. It's fortunate that Vanessa and more specifically her father, just re-stocked the ship's supplies before they lifted off. Moving to the mess, he collects the required materials so that he might start the process, bleary-eyed and without much in the way of a bushy tail. Still, given the last day or two he's had, it's nice that for once, the ship is relatively quiet. A lack of sasquatch about and the gnashing and wailing of course, tends to be soothing for the soul. Just staring blankly at the coffee pot, he lays in wait, forced to be patient. The Captain does not do this well... "Drip faster," he orders it. And still, it ignores him. Just like the crew.
She's sitting off to the side somewhere is Hayden, with a rather long, hooked, blunt ended thing in her hand. Cross legged, in her lap, is a ball of yarn. Is she....knitting? Crochet? What the hell? Either way, she seems to still be in the 'what the hell am I doing?!' stage because while one hand manages the long afgan hook, the other has the yarn wrapped around her fingers in a particular fashion. Eyes flicker up, reaching up with yarn tangled hand to tug a bud from her ear where she was listening to music. "It doesn't follow orders, trust me, I've tried." She comments quietly, her eyes on the mess of yarn and instrument of possible eye poking she holds. "But I'm pretty sure there is a timer on it, so if you should know when you're likely to stumble from your cabin, hung over and grouchy, you can set it so it will already be brewed." Surely the technology has progressed that far, right? Her hands stop suddenly and her nose wiggles. Aint' it just how it goes? Hands full and her nose starts to itch. She turns her head, raising one arm to try and satisfy the itch. Not having ever grown much accustomed to local time, Fish has been up and about for hours, though there's not a whole lot to do between pointing the ship thattaway and landing. As such, not unsimilar to the Captain's own motivation, it's beer that brings the pilot into the kitchen. He carries a freshly empty bottle in one hand and a small datapad in the other, and is sufficiently absorbed in what he's reading that he doesn't notice the presence of other people until they speak. Without looking up from the datapad he offers a familiar, terse, "Morning," before discarding his empty bottle in favor of a fresh cold one, pitching the cap in the direction of the recycling bin. His objective achieved, Fish finally turns off the pad and stashes it in a pocket, pausing to observe Hayden's mess of yarn while he drinks.
"So," Trent murmurs without looking back, "It fits right in with the rest of the crew." Giving up on the infernal machine, he turns, marching himself to the table where he takes a seat, choosing to rub his face idly, merely trying to stay awake at this point. "Good morning, by the way," he offers politely enough to Hayden, forcing a half a smile. "Or Afternoon. I'm really not sure right now." He pauses, tilting his head, a thought occuring to him. "See, this is exactly why I hate sitting in one place for too long. You acclimate to the time on that world and then you're all crabbed for a day or more." Oh, to have cheap trucker speed... It's roughly then he takes note of what Hayden is doing, one brow arching curiously. Given he's never seen anyone knit, crochet or other, he seriously looks confused. "What kind of chinese torture device is that?" he asks curiously, assuming it has to be self-inflicted and incredibly masochistic. Only once Fish enters does he peer at the man, seemingly disgusted by his fully awake state. "Maybe I should just keep ship time," he finally murmurs. "I'm doing it wrong." Only then does he remember... "Oh wait, I'm the one that has to talk to people. Hell," he almost spits, his nose wrinkling.
Hayden's eyes move up briefly at Fish's arrival, watching him as he gets another beer. "Morning." She responds in kind, minus the terse. The captain settles and when he comments, she says without flickering a smile or stopping the movements of her hands that are careful and thoughtful, "You'll find out when I fasten it to your fingers and toes." After a few careful movements, she seems to reach some sort of stopping point that probably only she can remember and she looks up. Her eyes on the Captain for a long moment, "Is that what you tell people, when they ask what you do? Because if we pay you to talk pretty, you need a paycut." It seems the doc is a still a little sour over the man's display in the cargo hold. Leave it to a woman to hold a grudge. Inhaling slowly, she tilts her head and rolls her shoulders, little cracks sounding as she does. "Where we headed and why?"
Once Hayden has returned Fish'es greetings, only, without the terse, Trent regards the woman curiously, perhaps taking her reply seriously. "I don't think my finger and toes want that," he murmurs, before glancing over his shoulder at the coffee pot again. No, it STILL hasn't finished. It's her next question that gives him pause, his brow arching at the woman once he re-addresses her, a sniff clearing his nasal passages and giving him a moment to consider his response... Nah, fuck it. it's the wrong time to push his buttons. "Yes, as a matter of fact, that's what I tell people. I know I didn't drop out of school to get there, but I try pretty hard," he explains. "And you know, it's kinda funny that you say 'we' need to cut my pay, if talking pretty is what I do," he considers aloud. "Mostly because I remember hiring you. I remember setting up your regular paycheck and the last time I checked, I don't actually collect one," he notes with a shrug. "But I tell ya what, I'll cut nothing, out of nothing. Let's me do that math... Zero, taken from zero, then you carry the zero... Oh hell, this is seriously complicated," he murmurs in a flat tone. Shaking his head, he presses up out of his seat, before turning to walk back to his cabin. "I really hope your bedside manner is better than your attitude Hayden," he murmurs without looking back. "We are going where I damned please and why is none of your fucking business. If you dislike that, this is your port of harbor," he farther explains. "Me? I'm going back to bed and trying this over again. Cheer up, buttercup. And get the whole fucking story before you crucify someone, Pontius Pilate." With that, he unlocks his hatch, before dissapearing into his cabin, the door SLAMMING shut behind himself.
If one knows Hayden, and it's not likely that any of the crew quite know her this well, they might see the early signs of boiling anger. A slow inhale, her fingers still tangled with yarn and the hook she holds, tremble just briefly. Slowly, she begins the careful and deliberate crochet once more, but she's not done. Oh no. Clearing her throat, "I don't need to crucify you, you do that often enough ALL BY YOURSELF!" She doesn't start out in a shout, but it sorta ends that way. Suddenly, she just doesn't have the patient for it anymore and tosses the yarn and the crochet needle down with a sound of pure frustration. Snatching the mess up off the floor, she heads to the kitchen, where the booze is stored. "Jesus, I had to get on the ship with a drama queen. Someone up there in the black is laughing." She mutters, finding a bottle and twisting the top off with angry motions. Without bothering with a glass, she drinks straight from it, long drinks of the dark amber liquid.
With all the shouting, it's perhaps no small wonder that it draws attention to the common area. The hatch to one of the cabins -- the first one, even -- draws open, and Vanessa steps out of the room. In her left hand is held a violin case that looks as though it's likely seen some better days, all things considered. The wood has a couple of scratches to it, a small dent. Though overall, it's the instrument inside that matters more to the woman than the case it's kept in. Her right hand carries a small canvas bag which oddly appears to have a pair of shoes in it. Strange, perhaps, but it is what it is. One of her eyebrows quirks upwards, a glance given towards the Captain's cabin's hatch as it slams shut. Then her blue gaze turns to Hayden, studying the other woman. "Someone up in the Black is always laughing. Just not always at you," Vanessa comments, a note of understanding to her voice and a small smile touching at the corners of her lips. A glance is given towards the alcohol Hayden's consuming, though she makes no move to fetch herself a glass of it as well. "What happened?" she asks, curiosity to her voice and her head tilting faintly to one side. Being the XO sometimes ends up meaning 'Keeper of the Peace'.
That grumpy part of her, that little girl part of her that remains in most women, even if buried somewhere deep, wants to sullenly say: nothin'. But instead, she appears to be slightly embarrassed that all the said shouting has roused the XO from her cabin. "I'm sorry." She says, after another heavy swallow or two. "I apparently just can't talk to that man without screamin' or flirtin' and this apparently was the screaming part." There is another apologetic look. "I didn't mean to interrupt you..." She looks to the bag, the violin, and decides to just leave it at that. With her hand still on the neck of the bottle, which doesn't look as if she is letting go of it anytime soon, her other hand holds the mess of yawn and needle. "Maybe I should just go to my cabin." She mutters, but as of yet she makes no move to depart. "Is he like that to everyone? Seriously, I would think if he talked to you like that, you'd knock his stubborn block off." A flash of tongue over her lips, flicking at the lower lip piercing.
It's a part that every woman has, locked away inside. And it's a part that Vanessa can relate to. Lightly, Vanessa rolls her right shoulder in a bit of a shrug, stepping towards the table to place the violin case atop of it. The bag with the shoes is placed onto the seat of one of the chairs. A smile touches at the corners of her lips, and then Vanessa lightly shakes her head. "There's no need to apologize to me. Sometimes, it's not a bad thing to let the feelings out," she comments, a thoughtful note to her voice. "It wasn't really an interruption," she muses, raising an eyebrow slightly. "You're fine to stay out here and drink -- there's no harm in it," she offers, a smile touching at the corners of her lips. She gives a soft chuckle, then glances towards the closed Captain's cabin hatch before her attention comes back to Hayden. "Mmm. Well, he and I have our moments, I'd have to admit to that. He means well, you know. And whether you'd believe it or not, I think he's trying to keep us out of harm's way," she offers, lifting her left hand to brush a bit of hair from her face. "Twice... well, three times. Once when I smacked him upside the head, the second time when I dumped his chair, and the third time when I kicked him in his bad shoulder. He has stopped pushing some of my buttons, though I think he's working up to tugging on my hair," she comments, a hint of amusement to her voice.
It's not until that final comment, that Hayden laughs. It's a smothered sort of sound and she lifts a hand to smother it further but it escapes none the less. "That's an understatement." She says, dropping her hand back onto the neck of the bottle. She abandons the crochet mess there on the counter and sighs, resting bother hands on the bottle as if that's all that's keeping her together at this moment. "He's a right git." She mutters, a slip of an English accent caressing the words. "I admit, maybe it's me, maybe I don't know how to talk to him." A soft frown touches her brows, her lips and she takes another long drink from the bottle. "Maybe I should give him a little more respect." A pause, tilting the bottle, watching the liquid inside as it sloshes against the curves that make up the neck of the bottle. "Or at least...fake it. What's the old saying? Fake it until you make it?" She offers a smile towards the other woman, "It's either that, or I start smackin' the crap out of him and I'm sure he can mop the floor with me. Unless I shoot him. Then I just have to patch him up again." She snorts softly,wrinkling her nose with humor.
"Oh, aye... it likely is an understatement. And probably one of a significant size, too," Vanessa comments, quirking a bit of a smile. She chuckles softly, then lightly lifts her shoulders in a smooth shrug. "Name me one man in all the 'Verse that doesn't have the capacity to be a git," she offers, her blue eyes showing a sparkle to them. Shifting her weight slightly, she tucks the fingers of her left hand into one of the pockets of her jeans, watching Hayden. And for the time being, remaining where she is rather than head for where her own whiskey is stashed. "Well, he is the Captain of the ship, which does rate some respect, at least. It can take a bit to figure out how to talk to him... sometimes, he can be difficult, I won't deny that. When he's being blustery, take it with a grain of salt, maybe," she offers, inclining her head slightly towards the medic. She quirks a smile, tilting her head a little to one side as she watches Hayden, and there's almost a lazy huntress sort of bearing to her. "Well, if you start smacking him too much, then I might have to step in the way somewhat. Though I think I can safely say you don't want to shoot him. 'Cause I'm pretty sure you don't want to be shot yourself and have to suffer through my first aid skills," she comments, a bit of amusement somewhere along the way there, despite a bit of seriousness as well.
A nod of her head, agreement from the medic. Inhaling slowly, releasing the bottle and at last turning to rummage for a glass she says quietly. "I wouldn't really shoot him." She murmurs, quietly. It's not something she would admit too loudly, at any rate, because it would rob her of some of her bravado. "And I don't think, unless he really pushed me, I would hit him." She glances over her shoulder at the other woman. "But that's between me and you." The glass is taken up. set on the counter and she pours herself a drink. Civilized like. "I'll try the grain of salt thing. And maybe a little more self control." Of course, that takes all the fun out of it, but sometimes sacrifices must be made. Capping the alcohol, she sips her drink, takes up the mess of yawn and the crochet needle and exhales. "But I'm not apologizing." She says quietly. She turns to head towards her cabin. "I think that would cost me woman points or something." A faint grin.
Vanessa quirks a smile, and then she inclines her head slightly towards Hayden. "A good choice, not shooting him," she comments, her blue eyes showing a sparkle to them. Then she gives a light laugh before nodding. "Oh, aye. I can relate to hitting him. Well, in fact. The only time I have is because he did push. Though he deserved it more times than it happened," she offers, quirking a smile. "Your secret's safe with me -- I'll tell no one," she adds. Then she steps away from the table to make her way towards the fridge, perhaps surprisingly fetching out of it a bottle of juice which she opens and takes a drink from. Then she glances towards the mess of yarn that Hayden's claimed. "What're you working on making?" she asks curiously, giving a nod to it. Then she quirks a grin. "Well, apologies aren't always required. Sometimes they're nice, but not required," she adds, giving a nod.
With a loud 'CLACK' the hatch of the Captain's Cabin unlocks, leaving the door to slide to the side. Stepping back into the crew area, the Captain pauses to see who's currently present. At the least this time, he looks considerably more awake and finally fully dressed. Rolling his eyes at no one in particular (Ahem) he crosses the area to the mess where the pot of coffee is finally waiting, ready. So what if it's a bit acidic now. Only once he's retrieved a mug and pours himself a cup of black gold does he turn around to eye both women, a flash of a smile offered to Vanessa. "Nessie," he murmurs in greeting before he lifts his mug for a sip. Given the last exchange he had, he simply looks between the women, waiting for some form of backlash or reprisal. Of course, given the sinister little spark in his eyes, he seems fully prepared for it. "What's in the case?" he asks curiously of the older redhead, a slender brow quirking upright. The bag with shoes, he... He just skips right past that.
She looks down at the mess of yarn, scowling at it just a little. "I was trying to make a scarf. I figured if I could make that, I could move onto something larger but right now, seriously.... this yarn is winning." She chuckles softly. "But I'll keep working at it, because I've taken my guns apart already three times this week and cleaned them. I think doing more of that, would just give me points towards being a psycho." She takes a sip of the alcohol and meanders a little more towards her cabin. She's just about reached the door, when the door to the Captain's cabin unlocks and slides open. As she is pointedly ignored, she does the same, but... somehow, politely, to the Captain. There is no glaring, no snarling, no muttering of phrases in French. Mess of yarn in one hand, the other holding her half a glass of booze, she nods to Nessa. "Nice, but not required." She says quietly, then offers a genuine smile, that lights up the woman's green eyes. "Have a good night, Ma'am. If you need me, I will be tangled up in yarn. If I leave the ship, I'll most likely be tangled up in some young, good looking, man and you can reach me on the com." A wink, not a flirtatious one, but a one that is shared secrets between women and she moves to slip inside her cabin.
With the sound coming from the Captain's cabin to indicate it's opening, Vanessa turns her blue gaze in that direction. A smile comes to the corners of her lips, and she inclines her head towards the Captain. "Edison," she offers, by way of greeting. She lifts the bottle of juice and takes another drink from it, then raises an eyebrow at his question. Quirking a smile, she lifts her free hand to brush a bit of hair from her face. "A violin is in the case," she answers, her blue eyes showing a sparkle to them. Then her attention turns over to Hayden, and she tilts her head faintly to one side. "A scarf's a good place to start. Though when you're learning, I've heard that the yarn rather does have the upper hand. I'm not much for things like that... but it's good to be able to make things," she says, a smile coming to the corners of her lips. She chuckles softly, then gives a nod to Hayden. "Aye. You too, Hayden... have a good night, and be well," she offers, a warm smile coming to her features as she returns the wink in similar fashion.
Glancing between the women oddly with the winking and feminine secrets and estrogen, Trent just looks confounded. No one said a word. As such, he kindly refrains from suggesting Hayden hang herself with her yarn, instead choosing to be civil, for once. "Good night, Hayden," he offers simply enough. As for making things... Yeah, he skips right past that, too. Watching the younger woman depart for a moment, he visibly relaxes with a roll of his neck, before his attention turns to Vanessa. "I guess that was an obvious question," he admits, again lifting his mug for a swallow. "Okay. So... Then might I ask why you're playing crazy bag lady with a random pair of shoes?" he finally offers up, somehow sure he'll be made to reget asking. Still: Has to be done. As for the womanly exchange, he CLEARLY wants to ask, given his expression, but perhaps admirably refrains. "And you can't make things?" he asks curiously. "Like bruises, gashes, gaping, sucking wounds..."
