star (![]() ![]() @ 2015-10-17 20:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | castor vance, star |
WHO: Castor Vance & Star
WHAT: Star tries to solve Castor’s maze tats
WHEN: Oct. 17th
WHERE: B52
WARNINGS: N/A
It was late at night and (yet again) Star had pulled the short straw. There was an inkling in the back of her mind that Dix might be screwing her over but she had little evidence. Yawning, her eyes were transfixed on the vast emptiness of space casting occasional glances to the radars. She clutched tightly to the blanket she had brought into the cockpit, trying to cling to the little warmth she had. Reaching for her mug of hot chocolate, Star had noticed she had run empty. With a frown she stood up, still wrapped in her blanket as she made her way to the kitchen and rec area. Her footsteps echoed across the ship, alerting her arrival to anyone still awake. When the door creaked opened she was shocked at the sight. Anyone else stretched across the plush couch might not've garnered a reaction, but all six foot three of Castor Vance was a different story. Castor who refused to let his crew see him so much as yawn, who rarely ever admitted to being tired when he was ready to drop from exhaustion, casually taking up the couch with one knee propped and a pen discarded on the floor next to him as if sleep had come fast and without a care. The paperwork scattered on the table, marked by his messy scrawl, wasn't going to do itself, but captains were human, too. Star remained quiet, noticing he didn’t even wake with the screech of the door closing. A frown pulled at her lips. She moved to prepare herself another hot chocolate, though her gaze remained locked on his figure as though thinking through something. Then she looked away as though decided. Pulling out the coffee she made it black like he liked it, not even bothering with any cream or sugar. What took her longer was finding the perfect mug. She had remembered gifting him one from some stupid tourist store during a stop in Venus. Climbing atop the counter she had dug through the cabinets before procuring a mug that read: ‘Galaxy’s Best Captain’. She didn’t bother reorganizing his papers, instead she set the mug away from his work figuring there must’ve been a method to his madness. Yet despite all of her rustling, he remained sleeping. Was he dead, was her first thought. When she couldn’t see the slow rise of his chest, her hands immediately jutted out to reach for his wrist. She pulled his sleeve up a bit. Blinking, she had almost forgotten she was checking out the captain’s well-being and pushed the sleeve of his shirt further up. She stared at the tattoos with interest, moving his arm around as she analyzed the intricate maze. It was while she inspected the ink that she noticed the pen on the floor. An idea. Half an hour later, Star left the rec room with a whistle and a kick in her step. What didn't take half an hour was the stir that had Castor waking to confusion, all memories of paperwork lost in the haze. He'd definitely made a mistake -- the couch, comfortable as it was to sit on, was a piece of shit to sleep on. The awareness of having passed out in the middle of the rec room came quickly, and it was with a wince that he drew himself into a seating position, automatically moving to pull his sleeve down to discover a few things: that he'd been draped with a familiar blanket, there was coffee on the table, and oh, look-- Someone had fucking tried to solve his tattoo. With a pen. The bewildered expletive that left his mouth went unheard to anyone within earshot as he twisted his arm to read the scribbled words from the only person he knew was childish enough to do this. At least, the one who would be thoughtful enough to make a sleeping person coffee. He found Star in the cockpit, his boots heavy on the floor on the approach. Coming up from behind allowed him the opportunity to drop the blanket directly onto her head; he didn't think to notice the mug cupped in her hands. Unfortunately, it was very difficult to sneak up on someone on the B52, but by the time she had turned to look at him the blanket had already made contact with her face. Lucky for her, Star had just finished her hot coco. "You missed the Connect The Dots on my abs," he spat, the acid in his tone a byproduct of having not touched the coffee -- now cold, undoubtedly -- she so thoughtfully brewed for him. “Connect The Dots?!” she quickly pulled the fleece from her face. “Really?” Castor's surly look said everything. His annoyance already fading, he moved to cross both arms over his chest in some vague protective gesture. He might have thanked her for cold coffee, but instead went a different course, that nagging responsibility taking hold. "Am I the only thing you drew on?" God forbid she drew on that paperwork; it had been tedious to do to begin with. The brunette couldn’t help but blink back up at him. “I mean what else would I have drawn on? Your paperwork looked pretty complicated. Would’ve done it for you but a) we have different handwriting and b) I was taking too long trying to solve your-- by the way-- unsolvable mazes.” It took everything he had not to roll his eyes. He channeled his fleeting irritation into movement, shifting to setting his arms and weight against the back of the empty -- Dix's -- seat. (And oddly, it felt, for just a second, incomplete without the other half there.) "They're not meant to be solvable," he pointed out, grateful to have something to lean into. Star pouted her lips, looking over at him before her gaze dropped down to the empty seat. “You can sit, y’know,” she motioned to the chair with her head. “I’m sure Dix won’t mind.” The younger pilot pulled down at the blanket, wrapping herself in it before glancing back out the window into the asteroid field. Something sharp and snarky along the lines of I don't care if he minds swelled in the back of Castor's mind; he shoved the thought away and settled for a sigh. Should've had that coffee. It took a few beats of thick silence for him to cave: he circled the seat and dropped into it with more care than he thought he was capable of. Terrifying, the ease of being able to picture Dix raising his eyebrows and going Does that mean I can take your chair? Star couldn’t help but smile as she turned to look at him. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Her gaze went back out the window, glancing to the radars briefly before returning. “So!” she started, pulling out a bag of mixed peanut butter candies. “Why,” there was crunching, “get maze tattoos if they’re not solvable?” His tired comeback was not the greatest. "Because I didn't think someone would try to solve them while I was sleeping." The pilot seat felt strange and unfamiliar, but he didn't shift to find a more comfortable position. Pointedly, he pulled the edge of his sleeve up, catching the tail end of her fading Sorry! “Oh, and here I thought it had deeper meaning. Like putting up an array of walls to form an emotional labyrinth and keep people out.” The pilot paid no mind to the words that spewed from her mouth. Her elbow rested on the arm of her seat, propping up her cheek as she looked out the window thoughtfully. “You really got me when it had no solution. I was sitting there like wow this is really dark. Nice to know it was just a brief thought at a tattoo parlor.” It hadn't been, really. On the other hand, Castor hadn't thought too deeply about what to stain into his skin; so many of his tattoos had simply been a way to strip away Markus, that former life he didn't want to associate himself with anymore. Good ideas at the time was a better way to explain it, if he wanted to-- and he didn't. He settled his head into the headrest. "Not everything needs to have a meaning," he muttered. Star grinned over at him, carefree and innocent as always. “Next time you should get a tic tac toe tattoo. I bet I can beat you at it!” Her gaze shifted back to space. “I sit here all the time and sometimes these late night-early morning shifts are tedious and boring, but that--” she motioned to the stars and the vast, dark emptiness, “--I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at that.” Castor could, and did. Piloting a vessel wouldn't have been so bad if it didn't mean coasting through open space without a clear end in sight. It went on forever; it was just so full of fucking nothing. He could give his pilots some credit for being able to stand it; he would definitely lose his mind. With that post-wake up grogginess mostly gone, all that was left was space to feel awkward -- he could sense it in his bones, in the spinal ache from their dumb couch. His eyes fell away from the glass to the console and its flashing lights. "So make your brother do them. Or switch." Pursing her lips, she didn’t hide the roll of her eyes as she threw her head back into the chair. “Have you met Dix? Even you know you’re lying out of your skin. There’s no way I can make him or convince him to switch.” There was a long pause. “Do you not like space?” Her surly captain could only snort, hoping to redirect the attention away from himself. "What does that have to do with Dix?" “Well I was just telling you that the view makes even the most boring part of my job worth it, and you just told me to switch with Dix.” Star raised a brow at him. “So do you not like space?” she asked again. "Space is fine," he shot back with the exasperation of someone who had been asked too many questions that he didn't want to answer. The delivery wasn't exactly impressive, but Castor cared to elaborate about it as much as he cared to elaborate on how his maze tattoos were unsolvable for a reason. The small pilot fell silent again. Shifting she brought her legs up and hugged them to keep warm. She glanced to him from the corner of her eye though kept facing towards the window. It was though she could hear Grace’s voice, and she finally nodded to herself. “Do you want me to be quiet for a bit? I can do that.” Castor sucked in a breath, already moving to push himself from Dix's seat -- he'd already overstayed that welcome. "You're fine," he allowed, realizing a moment too late that he'd reused the same word, though at least in a more convincing manner than the last. Before he could step too far past the headrest, he paused, refusing to look back toward Star as his concern, as ever, got the best of him. "How do you make your hot chocolate?" Damnit. Star had pursed her lips, figuring she had scared the captain away but his words were enough to have her completely turn to stare at his back. She blinked, confusion washing over her before a big smile pulled the corners of her lips. She grinned, handing him the empty mug. “There’s packets of Mexican hot chocolate I bought from TJ. Just mix them in with really hot milk. You should try one, really warms you up!” Upon their fingers brushing, it was impossible not to take notice of her cold fingertips, and yet Castor made no mention of it, figuring a steam cup of cocoa would do all the warming and thanking for him. He sighed. "I'll stick with coffee," were his last words before he was walking away, her empty mug clenched tight in his fist. |