Characters: Killian Jones and Sara Ryder When/Where: Friday (Start of Linked Plot)/The Normandy Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Sara tended to have an odd sleep schedule. She could be awake at random hours, either with nightmares or just being up, but when she did sleep it was usually deep. It was an advantage to sleep through a ship’s noise, or be able to sleep on a dig with various things going on at any time. And on the Tempest, with Gil’s tinkering at odd intervals, that had been even more of an advantage. And last night had given her just enough of a buzz to chase away the nightmares, so she’d actually gotten a full night’s rest.
Well, night was an odd one in space but the thought was the same. So it wasn’t technically her that woke, it was SAM who prodded her awake before telling her, over a private channel, that ‘there is a gentlemen besides your bed Pathfinder’ which was startling enough to wake her. And yes in fact there was someone on the floor beside the bunk she used. Thanks for that heart attack SAM.
“I wasn’t…” stupid enough to fuck up the best thing that had ever happened to her would be the finish to that but SAM, always helpful simply told her that no, apparently the gentlemen had simply appeared there. She let out a breath of relief and straightened. At least she was fully dressed. That was something.
Careful not to touch the sleeping person, people didn’t always wake up gently, she gave the man his space. “Hey. Wake up. I don’t know how you got here but it isn’t where you dropped off to sleep it off. You gotta go home pal.” ---
But the lump of a man curled round an empty bottle slept on, sounds of a soft, gentle voice not far off from that of the comforting lull of the sea.
It would take physical touch to wake the rogue. To that, he was overly responsive, jolting upright at the mere suggestion of a curious prod to drop-heeled boots. Pirates were ever-vigilant sleepers, after all. Atune to anyone of ill will brandishing a blade in the dark with the intent to burying it in their bellies and gut them like fish in their sleep.
Which meant the second his unexpected host came close enough for the Captain to sense another’s presence, he was jumping to his feet, drawing his sidesword and blinking blindedly in the ship’s bright light.
“Avast ye devil! What gives ye the right to wake Captain Hook?”
And why?
And wait- where?
“Davey Jones... What is this place?’
--
Thankfully, once she had reached for him and he jumped awake, she had her own quick reflexes to thank. So she pulled back quickly and stared at the man as if he'd just lost his head. Or drank too much. One of the two was likely, and considering the rum he was holding she knew what she was betting on.
So when he sat up she smiled at him, and then waved. Sara’s thing was that she saw people and immediately either wanted to help or befriend them. Something that came in handy in her duties as Pathfinder, but now just translated as ‘perky’. “Hi there. Captain Hook, really? That’s what you went with?” But who knew. This might be the infamous captain. She hoped there’d be no crocodiles following anytime soon.
“Not the Locker. You’re on the Normandy.” She folded her arms and smiled. “Do you want to get off? Because you turn right when you get out of this room, follow the corridor until you get to the airlock and then just leave via the door there. Next time, you might want to keep an eye on where you’re sleeping things off.”
---
Hook listened, but judging by the expression on his face still marred by compressions from sleeping atop the crook of a jacketed arm, he didn't hear. The lass’ words went in his ears and got muddled before reaching his brain. And shockingly, it wasn't the rum’s fault.
Normandy? Air lock?
What the bloody hell is going on here?!
“Look...” he sighed, lowering the tip of his sword but by no means the weapon itself. Still, the woman didn't appear dangerous at a glance, but it was hard to tell with Killian’s eyes still blurred by sleep.
“Last I remember, I broke into an abandoned building and curled up on that blanket,” he pointed to the ground at said rags, “and went to sleep. Alone. Far from here.... So unless ye clapped me in irons whilst I slept, I’ll just be on me way...” --
She felt bad that apparently he didn’t have a place to sleep. Did he not like the barracks? They could be a little cramped sure, but Cosmo had set it up so what he was describing wasn’t necessary. Maybe she’d point it out to their canine leader.
She held up her hands though, showing them as empty. The fact that she was a biotic, capable of throwing him across the room if he got violent, she wasn’t pointing out. It didn’t seem like a necessary thing to mention at this point.
“You’re free to go pal, I’m not keeping you here.” She curled her legs up next to her body and settled her blanket around her. This was a weird way to wake up, but she’d had weirder. She was still grateful she was dressed. Could have been a lot more awkward otherwise. “Have a good day. Maybe sleep in the Barracks? They’re there for a reason. You don’t need to go breaking into places.”
---
Satisfied by the stranger’s body language, Killian sheathed his sword, standing upright before giving her a polite bow; after all, he, apparently, was the intruder here. It still didn't make any sense but he wasn't trying overly hard to suss out the truth still half asleep and mostly tipsy. The reasons for his odd relocation didn't matter.
“Thank ye kindly for the recommendation but I’m no soldier.” Not anymore. Not since Liam.
“Good day, love. May you wake to a prettier face than mine tomorrow.”
As if one existed!
Turning round, Killian walked towards the room door, which much to his chagrin, opened automatically, startling the pirate. Space. What a filthy, technologically suffocating place.
But if he disliked automatic doors, he was about to dislike transportation even less, for the moment he turned right and disappeared into the corridor, he was suddenly back in the room. Stood exactly where he’d first woken up, mid-step and bumbling.
His sword was drawn seconds later, tip pointed back at the ‘innocent’ on the bed.
“What did you do, witch? What do you want from me?” ---
She could only smile at the bow. Gallant, but apparently trying very hard to hide that. PeeBee would be in hysterics over this guy. She’d have to remember to tell this story to her friend. If anything, PeeBee loved weird stories like this. “It isn’t about being a soldier. It’s about having a roof, and blankets. Cosmo provided it for us until we get on our feet. What you’re doing he’s trying to avoid. Mostly so no one ends up dead.”
But it was probably an empty argument. Some people didn’t want help after all. Then she chuckled. “Don’t I wish.” She waved at him before laying back down. “Ooookay. Well. SAM?” SAM was already busy trying to figure it out and she blinked when the stranger reappeared in her room. Again she held up her hands, her biotics quietly charging. “Nothing! I can’t teleport people. Look! Whatever’s going on it has nothing to do with me. Just...here.” She rose, hands up and calmly walked to the door. She exited, turned the corner and before she knew it was right back in her room. “Huh.” As the old saying went once was an accident, twice was coincidence and three times was a theory. Her little thing was three.
“I think,” she said setting her hands on her hips, “this is one of those weird Knowhere things. At least neither of us is a different species.” She looked to the sword, “You can put it away.”
---
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Killian replied, skepticism dripping. Still, he listened to her, tucking the blade away once more - but only because he wished to, mind.
“Ye telling me, love, that things like this happen round here with frequency? People popping up in your bedroom...?” Often enough, he assumed. She was fairly pretty, with dark hair and eyes and a smile Killian thought might melt his heart if he’d had one.
But he didn't, so sod it.
“Look, I’m sure you’re a peach, but I have places to be. Things to do. Fish to gut. How do we sort this?” ---
She rolled her eyes, “no not that.” Mostly because the person she wished would, wasn’t here. “Weird circumstances. We’ve had all sorts of problems, this might just be one of them.” and honestly the least of them. No one was a puppet, or a different gender, or a different species. She was going to take that little bit of good news.
“So do I. I got a job,” Two, technically. She did her part here on the ship and then she kept an eye on the Collector. She couldn’t exactly slack off in any of it. “And honestly? I have no idea. Usually it never lasts long. A few days. A week or two at most. Best you can do is get used to this idea, and do the best that you can with it. We all have to.”
“I’ll see what I can do in the meantime. But for now, are you hungry? Because I sure as heck am and there’s a kitchen here. Gotta eat something.” ---
Killian’s eyes narrowed, line of kohl thickening about bright blue eyes. Was this woman really suggesting he simply live with it? ‘It’ being their predicament, which seemed to suggest an inability to separate further than five feet from one another. What happened when they needed to relieve themselves? Or bathe? Had she thought about that?
If not yet, surely she would realise soon enough, much to his amusement. Killian never minded an audience or company, as it were, but he was a scallywag and she, clearly, a lady.
“If I understand correctly, whether I’m hungry or not, where one goes the other must follow.” Which was actually the only thing about this situation Killian despised; he didn't abide well being told what to do. “This place best haves something strong to drink, love.”
---
She was a woman raised by an N7, who’d signed up for a military career at eighteen only to go into Peacekeeping duties later. And on digs, privacy went out the window. What little shame she’d had when she’d gone into it, had long been removed from her. Plus, she’d lived on a ship where there’d only been one bathroom. She’d walked into plenty of people naked, half naked, or otherwise. She’d seen plenty so she wasn’t worried about it.
“Sounds like it. I don’t know how far this thing goes. We can test out the range of it if you like?” At heart, much like her mother, she liked testing things and figuring things out. While this was inconvenient, it also was something new. And she wasn’t Pathfinder for nothing.
“We got a good stock,” they’d put a dent in it yesterday but she knew they had plenty. Smiling she extended her hand. “Sara Ryder. Figure we might as well get introductions out of the way.” ----
Killian stared at Sara’s right hand for a moment, then took it with his own, hook lowered by his side. However, instead of shaking her hand, he turned her palm towards the ground, bent, and kissed backs of dainty knuckles, his eyes on her’s through a low bow.
“Miss Ryder,” he greeted, releasing her hand as he stood. “A pleasure, despite the strange circumstance. Killian Jones, Captain of The Jolly Roger, at your service.”
At her service, at least, for as long as he found it convenient.