Kobol's Legacies

Cole stood in front of the door to Captain Tarix's door and raised his angry fist. He took a deep breath, paused and then lowered his arm. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd been given so many chances that it somehow felt wrong to just end someone's career as a Viper Pilot before it even started. Still, enough was enough.

( He turned... )

( rated R for drug use (needle). Not much detail, but you've been warned ;) )

Vagabond relaxed with an easy sigh as he looked out at the endless star line. Somehow, here, behind the stick of a Mark VII, it all made sense. The fighter moved like a dart of mercury through the whale-like capital ships of the fleet. Vagabond took a kind of arrogant joy in the fact that as long as he was in the cockpit he was in control. He could outrun, out fly, and and out perform any other ship in the fleet and he knew it. This wasn't the time to stand on his soap box, though. That would come when the details of the 'military action' that had the fleet on edge were revealed. For now this was just another day, another cubit - a standard BARCAP.

"Vagabond to Avalon, things seem fine among the heavies and the civilian ships. Permission to sweep the forward quadrant?" His voice carried a static-ridden sense of boredom across the wireless.

A dull, almost irritated, "Permission granted" came back.

He shifted his weight a bit, and made a few adjustments to his sensors before opening the throttle up ever so slightly. The agile Mark VII zipped ahead, reaching the forward point of the fleet in seconds.

"What do ya say, Cupcake? You got my six as we sweep a whole lot of nothin'?" It was almost possible to hear the grin on his face as he called sardonically called to his wingman across the wireless.

Stowing the last of his incidentals into a foot locker, Cole turned and flopped into one of the metal chairs that surrounded the tiny metal table sitting amongst the collection of bunks, photos and gear that the Black Hydras called home. He glanced around the room for a second and with a sigh he came to the realization that this was his home too. After pondering that thought for a moment or two he wasn't sure whether the idea of this new home was exciting or depressing. Still, the silence and solitude was causing some melancholy to slip into his mood.

He stood once more and took off his flight suit for the first time since he'd come aboard the Avalon. Now in his loose black pants and black and gray combination of sleeveless shirts, he reached for his guitar. Taking the beaten black case into his hands gingerly, he slowly opened the clasps. They groaned from age and wear. It was comforting, familiar sound. No matter where he'd gone in his life, Cole had always had his guitar.

( Lifting the simple )

Cole put the last thoughts of Colonel MacKenzie out of his head as he made his way down the hall. He still couldn't quite get over how fast the Colonel had been able to get inside his head. He shivered, the uncomfortable parallels to his father flooding his mind's eye. The speeches, the rants, the discipline; it had been over a decade, but somehow just thinking about it always seemed to create a fresh wound.

He cleared his mind once and for all as he stood before the office door of Captain Tarix. He smiled to himself and straightened his hair. Jester had said she kept a tighter line than he did, but still - it never hurt to look your best when meeting a lady.

Clearing his throat, Colton West wrapped at the door

The heavy echo of combat boots on the metallic flight deck carried across the hanger bay like the opening beats of some annoying song that gets stuck in the brain. A few working mechanics turned to see who was bothering to make all the noise.

He was lithe and lean and carried himself with the swagger of someone whose abilities were only outmatched by his ego. An athletic frame was wrapped in the gray-green flight suit of a viper jock. He was a short man, with an almost elfin sparkle in his dark brown eyes. The thin, well trimmed facial hair an loose cascade of brown hair only added to his mischievous aura. A duffel bag was held loosely in his right hand while an old fashioned guitar case was slung over his shoulder. Both were beaten and patched in several places.
( He nodded... )