| Hiding |
| Summary: | Micah finds Mopsus hiding in her bunk. Offers her a ride. NOW with SUBTITLES! |
| Date: | 7 ACH |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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Snatch lurks in the dark of her bunk, still and quiet, the curtain drawn nigh totally shut, only allowing one three-inch shaft of light to spill across her torso, a photo from home glistening in the light as she stares at it.
It's easy to miss another set of footfalls in the corridor, especially when it's time for the duty change. Though this particular interloper is not making much effort to hide the racket his boots make on the steel deck plating. He tromps toward one of the bunks, sticks his nose up to the curtained enclosure, and moves on to the next; if Snatch were to peek out of her bunk, she'd get a glimpse of some dark-haired, well-built kid in a flight suit, wandering the berthing area.
Snatch shifts her eyes toward the nose poking toward the part in her curtains and she flips the photo she's holding over, shifting over to her side to gum it back up onto the back wall of her bunk and curl up there, ass pointed toward the curtain. That's about how much she wants to talk to someone right now.
It's a nose followed by a blue eye, and then a hazel one as Micah's head dips further between the curtain panels. "Hey!" It nearly comes out as a shout, so he lowers his voice and repeats himself in a dramatic whisper, as if it might negate the former. "Hey, come 'ere, I need t'talk to you. Come 'ere."
"I -hain't- on call. Lemme lone," Snatch mutters. Less angry than tired, her tone of voice. Tired and mildly defeated, truth to tell, the enginesnipe not moving from her spot curled up on her bunk, facing the wall, hands folded and clasped between her knees.
There's the sound of a sigh from the pilot, an agitated thing borne of having scoured the hangar bay and interrogated deck hands, and then having tracked her down to here, only to be shoved off. Deserved, probably, but he's still agitated about it. "Fine," is grunted as he drops himself onto her bunk, tucks his knees up to his chest and pulls the curtain shut. Shuffling toward the wall until his back rests against it, and then his cheek turned to the side, he regards her silently and with some irritation. "I'm sorry for what I said to you. In the mess hall."
Snatch keeps her eyes fixed on the wall. She's on the top bunk closest to the door, so it's a little climb up, and her bunk is riddled with extraneous bits pilfered from the trashbins, most of which have been finagled together into a bunch of little half-working trinkets. Her bunk's a sharp and pokey place, and she tenses a little as he climbs up with her, but doesn't move. "Whane'er," she drawls. ('Whatever.') "Ain't matter none."
Micah actually has to move a couple of those sharp and pointy things out of the way, in order to sit. And then proceeds to fiddle with one of them in his hands — an ancient bit of circuit board in this case — with fingers that are oddly elegant, for a viper jock. Without really paying much attention to what he's doing, he starts reconnecting the capacitors while he speaks, "Jus' wanted you to know. Because, you're family, don't have much family anymore." The thing is turned over, and the power supply checked. "An' also, that I'll help you. If you want, still."
Snatch keeps staring at the wall, the half of the curtain that's still shut bathing her upper half in darkness and creating an army of phantoms looking back at her from the photos gummed up on the ceiling and back wall of her bunk. She presses her lips together as Crow calls her family, then finally rises a little, pushing herself up a degree or two on her elbow. "T'an?" she whispers faintly. ("You will?")
Micah, in contrast, is bathed in uncertain light from the berthing's overhead lamp. It doesn't particularly flatter him, or his ugly scar, or the dark hair worn too long for regulation rules that he somehow manages to get away with anyhow. But there's a quiet nod from the kid as he sets down the circuit board, and glances toward the technician slantwise. "Aye," he murmurs. "But, you can't tell anyone about it. I've got CAP tonight, but I'll come an' find you tomorrow. Yeah?"
Snatch swallows, suddenly somewhat in awe, but, lest he think she doesn't want to take him up on it anymore, she nods her head quickly, speechlessly. "Ou-ais. T'morry," she finally manages to whisper, "M'a ne dee pas an anybiny. Y'ns… I thank yin."
Some helpful person turns on the subtitles. "I'm not going to talk to anybody. You… I thank you."
One corner of Crow's mouth starts to twitch into a smile, but it's quickly stifled into a firmer line that's nearer to a scowl. Maybe not quite quickly enough, depending on how perceptive the girl is. "T'morry," he repeats, mimicking her particular dialect in a fashion that sounds a bit silly when spoken with an 'english' accent. "You make sure you have everything you need, an' ready to go. I'm sure you can sign off on one of the raptors for me, aye?"
Snatch draws her own lips together and furrows her brow in thought. "Hain't on deck crew," she states quietly, "Mas m'a figger a way. None fret." ("But I'll figure a way. Don't fret.") She sits up further, now, stretching out a leg until it just about reaches his, drawing herself up into a slouched sitting position. "Whan y'ns changer mahn?" she wonders softly. ("Why'd you change your mind?")
Micah nods curtly to the first, and then averts his own eyes when she begins to sit up a little. Shy? Him? The big bad viper jock? Nah. "Jus' don't get yourself into trouble over it. Be discreet. Grab something that in't being used for alert. Maybe something jus' been repaired, needs to go out for a quick spin t'make sure the FTL's working right." He licks his lips, but doesn't otherwise move; not closer, not away, when that foot nearly touches him. Then the truth comes out, muttered almost too quiet to be heard: "Don' like making girls cry. But you tell -anyone- and the deal's off, aye?"
Snatch draws her leg back when she notices the proximity, tucking her legs one over the other, indian-style, and she continues to nod quickly in response to his directions. She's never gone AWOL before. "Ou-ais, sir," she replies simply, quietly. "M'a ne dee pas," she assures him.
Micah breathes in deeply, breathes out again. Nods once. "You get some sleep," he murmurs as he begins shuffling off the bunk. A brief glance to the photographs tacked to the wall. "You get some sleep, don' think about it any more. It's okay now." And then he's gone, a loud thump as he hops down to the floor and his boots hit the deck plating. He vanishes out the door without another word.
