Post by Cid on Jan 11, 2010 17:58:07 GMT -5
And the Lord said, Whereunto then shall I liken the men of this generation? and to what are they like? / They are like unto children sitting in the marketplace, and calling one to another, and saying, We have piped unto you, and ye have not danced; we have mourned to you, and ye have not wept.
~quotation from the Bible
---
He'd considered killing them. He had been in such a rage that he'd nearly grabbed the lot and made them walk the plank. Seeing their bewildered "what's going on 'ere?" expressions as he tossed them out an airlock would've cheered him up considerably, and whatever had transgressed before that time would've ultimately been forgiven in the icy depths of Davy Jones. The Wraith had endless remorse for those lost at sea, yet he'd been victim to pragmatism. If they'd been tossed, so too would their dear Captain. For who had concocted the scheme in the first place and let it all to shambles?
He hobbled, he bobbled, he jigged. That was all that remained of his failure, he'd decided. Hain't got no worries, no troubles, no pains! Nothin' but blue skies and easy currents, har. Mebbe a few easy ladies ta boot. The Wraith thought about being up in the guts of some fab Martian lady when he looked out the window.
The Red Planet came into view. Something about it captured his leady heart. It was hardly a speck at that point, with little spheroids on either side like dimples. He'd never been here before, ever. The thought never crossed his mind, not that that was uncommon. Only a handful of things troubled the Wraith, and backwater planets wasn't one of them. They'd land soon and take on supplies. Amador City was the shithole's capital, and he meant that as endearingly as possible. They required a refueling, not to mention some hardtack. Stores were considerably low. He blamed Ms. Joiner, but he sensed they would've stopped here regardless.
"Take 'er down, Mr. Mute!" The Wraith startled the bridge crew who had been on the verge of sleepy rapture. Mutie saluted exuberantly and steered the Bones closer to the North Western hemisphere.
Sam's eyes twinkled. It'd been forever since he'd felt real gravity.
---
The ship had settled comfortably within the hangar despite having to negotiate a less-than perfect vertical descent into the mountain. Correction: the LARGEST god-blasted mountain he'd ever seen. Riley wanted to applaud young Mutes for his effort, but he felt the boy had grown far too full of himself lately. So he simply shook his head in a somber show of appreciation. The Bones was his wee baby, after all. He had full-faith in the boy, regardless, and he was in good spirits.
"Shore leave for an hour, lads. Any late bastard is a left bastard, y'hear." It wasn't a question but they understood. No loitering in the whorehouses unless you wanted to be a permanent resident.
The Captain descended the gangway as if being received by an entourage of courtly knights. Although there was little more than a half-asleep customs man and an automated dust-sweeper, he didn't ere. He strode down, flipping a coin as he passed. He wobbled from his injury, and although he'd been suspended in weightlessness for over a month, he wobbled with perfection.
As he entered the sprawling marketplace, he tasted the hundreds of people huddled together, bartering for odds and ends--obviously trying to make ends meet. He'd have 'em meet their end if they didn't get out of his way! They did, though, almost intuitively. They parted like Moses and his Red Sea. Outside there was an endless sea of red, yet the Wraith could plainly see no Moses to part it for 'em.
"Ted, b'fore you make off for the tillies, grab me a sack of rice and stow 'er. Ms. Joiner says she has the rest under wraps." He looked to Sayer, his incompetent XO. "Mr. Sayer, to me." He beckoned the man forward instinctively, all but ignoring his presence. The man annoyed the pants off of him and he couldn't place why. Perhaps it was because he never did anything of worth. He and that apple bitch--he'd take care of them both at a later date. He could feel his mood worsening.
As the two men strode down the central square, eying this and that, something hit Sam in the heartstrings like a harpoon through an angsty whale. As he rounded a stall selling sooty-smelling meats, he glimpsed a man with the most brilliant air of anyone this side of the Belt. His face was stern, expressionless, save for his two gleaming blue eyes. Like the most valuable sapphires, they were. His head and upper lip were covered with a wispy, defined matte of hair. They didn't make eye contact, but he was aware of all this nonetheless. Someone else was watching, as well. Something higher, less distinguishable. It shrunk him to an immeasurable size. Even though he was under kilometers of rock, he felt the skies open and light shine down.
They nearly brushed shirtsleeves, then it was over. The bustle of the marketplace overwhelmed his senses, never realizing that time had stood still for only a fraction of a moment.
He was shaking. Sayer moved to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off before it made its mark. He motioned forward, his hobble worse and a vomit taste in his mouth.
---
Jonas Keller stopped to look back at the man. He'd felt him, somehow. He could see his pain as clearly as the beads on his greasy mustache. It was an odd thing to consider even for a man such as he--being able to see into people. He'd felt it once or twice before, but never to this degree of clarity. He felt attached to him, overtaken even. Why? he couldn't fathom. The man looked bereft of civility, devoid of anything resembling good nature. How could he be worth anything in the scheme of things?
Beside him, Hudson Kyle let out a puff of a question. Jonas looked at the man and shrugged, beckoning him forward. There was liberation at hand and little time to waste on simple, roving vagabonds.
---
It had been a long day out. His leg was tired--both of them. The stores were full and Ted had all sorts of war stories to tell, not that he cared. He gazed out at the stars like so many before him. He wanted them. He stretched out his beaten hands, touching them. Everyone on the Bones ignored him as they usually did unless he was using his "Captain" voice. He felt ignored.
He felt worthless.
~quotation from the Bible
---
He'd considered killing them. He had been in such a rage that he'd nearly grabbed the lot and made them walk the plank. Seeing their bewildered "what's going on 'ere?" expressions as he tossed them out an airlock would've cheered him up considerably, and whatever had transgressed before that time would've ultimately been forgiven in the icy depths of Davy Jones. The Wraith had endless remorse for those lost at sea, yet he'd been victim to pragmatism. If they'd been tossed, so too would their dear Captain. For who had concocted the scheme in the first place and let it all to shambles?
He hobbled, he bobbled, he jigged. That was all that remained of his failure, he'd decided. Hain't got no worries, no troubles, no pains! Nothin' but blue skies and easy currents, har. Mebbe a few easy ladies ta boot. The Wraith thought about being up in the guts of some fab Martian lady when he looked out the window.
The Red Planet came into view. Something about it captured his leady heart. It was hardly a speck at that point, with little spheroids on either side like dimples. He'd never been here before, ever. The thought never crossed his mind, not that that was uncommon. Only a handful of things troubled the Wraith, and backwater planets wasn't one of them. They'd land soon and take on supplies. Amador City was the shithole's capital, and he meant that as endearingly as possible. They required a refueling, not to mention some hardtack. Stores were considerably low. He blamed Ms. Joiner, but he sensed they would've stopped here regardless.
"Take 'er down, Mr. Mute!" The Wraith startled the bridge crew who had been on the verge of sleepy rapture. Mutie saluted exuberantly and steered the Bones closer to the North Western hemisphere.
Sam's eyes twinkled. It'd been forever since he'd felt real gravity.
---
The ship had settled comfortably within the hangar despite having to negotiate a less-than perfect vertical descent into the mountain. Correction: the LARGEST god-blasted mountain he'd ever seen. Riley wanted to applaud young Mutes for his effort, but he felt the boy had grown far too full of himself lately. So he simply shook his head in a somber show of appreciation. The Bones was his wee baby, after all. He had full-faith in the boy, regardless, and he was in good spirits.
"Shore leave for an hour, lads. Any late bastard is a left bastard, y'hear." It wasn't a question but they understood. No loitering in the whorehouses unless you wanted to be a permanent resident.
The Captain descended the gangway as if being received by an entourage of courtly knights. Although there was little more than a half-asleep customs man and an automated dust-sweeper, he didn't ere. He strode down, flipping a coin as he passed. He wobbled from his injury, and although he'd been suspended in weightlessness for over a month, he wobbled with perfection.
As he entered the sprawling marketplace, he tasted the hundreds of people huddled together, bartering for odds and ends--obviously trying to make ends meet. He'd have 'em meet their end if they didn't get out of his way! They did, though, almost intuitively. They parted like Moses and his Red Sea. Outside there was an endless sea of red, yet the Wraith could plainly see no Moses to part it for 'em.
"Ted, b'fore you make off for the tillies, grab me a sack of rice and stow 'er. Ms. Joiner says she has the rest under wraps." He looked to Sayer, his incompetent XO. "Mr. Sayer, to me." He beckoned the man forward instinctively, all but ignoring his presence. The man annoyed the pants off of him and he couldn't place why. Perhaps it was because he never did anything of worth. He and that apple bitch--he'd take care of them both at a later date. He could feel his mood worsening.
As the two men strode down the central square, eying this and that, something hit Sam in the heartstrings like a harpoon through an angsty whale. As he rounded a stall selling sooty-smelling meats, he glimpsed a man with the most brilliant air of anyone this side of the Belt. His face was stern, expressionless, save for his two gleaming blue eyes. Like the most valuable sapphires, they were. His head and upper lip were covered with a wispy, defined matte of hair. They didn't make eye contact, but he was aware of all this nonetheless. Someone else was watching, as well. Something higher, less distinguishable. It shrunk him to an immeasurable size. Even though he was under kilometers of rock, he felt the skies open and light shine down.
They nearly brushed shirtsleeves, then it was over. The bustle of the marketplace overwhelmed his senses, never realizing that time had stood still for only a fraction of a moment.
He was shaking. Sayer moved to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off before it made its mark. He motioned forward, his hobble worse and a vomit taste in his mouth.
---
Jonas Keller stopped to look back at the man. He'd felt him, somehow. He could see his pain as clearly as the beads on his greasy mustache. It was an odd thing to consider even for a man such as he--being able to see into people. He'd felt it once or twice before, but never to this degree of clarity. He felt attached to him, overtaken even. Why? he couldn't fathom. The man looked bereft of civility, devoid of anything resembling good nature. How could he be worth anything in the scheme of things?
Beside him, Hudson Kyle let out a puff of a question. Jonas looked at the man and shrugged, beckoning him forward. There was liberation at hand and little time to waste on simple, roving vagabonds.
---
It had been a long day out. His leg was tired--both of them. The stores were full and Ted had all sorts of war stories to tell, not that he cared. He gazed out at the stars like so many before him. He wanted them. He stretched out his beaten hands, touching them. Everyone on the Bones ignored him as they usually did unless he was using his "Captain" voice. He felt ignored.
He felt worthless.