night on the town
Humans are built so that alcohol loosens the tongue, relaxes the careful guards of socialization, and forces a bit of silliness out into the open. If you can keep your head about you, the things you learn could fill a book, if anyone wrote books these days.
As we sat around the table at the dingy bar drinking sake and pisco and Cristal, our talk turned over many subjects: best job, worst job, worst crew, best pay. It all led eventually to a comparison of scars. Kon showed us the mass of bullet wounds on one shoulder and the Fed Unit tattoo on the other. Bulletvests don't typically cover arms and legs, and even those that do don't protect from everything: pulse blasts, acid, piercers. Em was a testimony to the messiness of spaceling life, but as I looked at her I realized that, with the new clothes Caban got for her in Target City hiding her scraped knees and bony elbows, and with a few months of solid protein, vitamins, clean oxygen and medical treatment, she looks far less like The Sneak and far closer to what she actually is. A young woman, actually, perhaps only a decade my junior. Closer to Ice's age, actually, though her age is as impossible to guess as the jump coordinates to the edge of the universe. She has no scars to show.
When it came my turn, and I hesitated, the Doctor smiled mischievously and said, "Oh, don't worry, I've seen yours!" Everyone laughed except me and Caban, but then Kon turned to him and grabbed his arm. "You don't be making remarks about Scout here. She'll try and break your fingers but I'll beat her to it." This from a man who, until a little while ago, took every opportunity to suggest that we engage in relieving whatever bizarre appetites he seems to have. Is it the alcohol that so improved his demeanor, or could it be some sort of personal growth?
After Ice stormed off as coldly as her drunkenness would permit, the situation devolved rapidly. After Caban and the Doctor entertained the advances of every local barcrawler who spotted them, we had to leave when Em bit a man attempting to ingratiate himself to her in a similar manner. We left laughing and stumbling, our hard times forgotten. The bartender and dockmanager looked disapprovingly at our bruises, but we paid them no mind. Soon we were racing back to the ship, Em clinging to Caban's back while I jostled and slipped on Kon's. Mezaro cheered sloppily and tried to keep up.
It is hard to say who won—we were evenly matched, but when Caban sprinted ahead Kon launched forward to tackle him. We went down and landed tangled, all of us shouting and breathless and glad.
As we sat around the table at the dingy bar drinking sake and pisco and Cristal, our talk turned over many subjects: best job, worst job, worst crew, best pay. It all led eventually to a comparison of scars. Kon showed us the mass of bullet wounds on one shoulder and the Fed Unit tattoo on the other. Bulletvests don't typically cover arms and legs, and even those that do don't protect from everything: pulse blasts, acid, piercers. Em was a testimony to the messiness of spaceling life, but as I looked at her I realized that, with the new clothes Caban got for her in Target City hiding her scraped knees and bony elbows, and with a few months of solid protein, vitamins, clean oxygen and medical treatment, she looks far less like The Sneak and far closer to what she actually is. A young woman, actually, perhaps only a decade my junior. Closer to Ice's age, actually, though her age is as impossible to guess as the jump coordinates to the edge of the universe. She has no scars to show.
When it came my turn, and I hesitated, the Doctor smiled mischievously and said, "Oh, don't worry, I've seen yours!" Everyone laughed except me and Caban, but then Kon turned to him and grabbed his arm. "You don't be making remarks about Scout here. She'll try and break your fingers but I'll beat her to it." This from a man who, until a little while ago, took every opportunity to suggest that we engage in relieving whatever bizarre appetites he seems to have. Is it the alcohol that so improved his demeanor, or could it be some sort of personal growth?
After Ice stormed off as coldly as her drunkenness would permit, the situation devolved rapidly. After Caban and the Doctor entertained the advances of every local barcrawler who spotted them, we had to leave when Em bit a man attempting to ingratiate himself to her in a similar manner. We left laughing and stumbling, our hard times forgotten. The bartender and dockmanager looked disapprovingly at our bruises, but we paid them no mind. Soon we were racing back to the ship, Em clinging to Caban's back while I jostled and slipped on Kon's. Mezaro cheered sloppily and tried to keep up.
It is hard to say who won—we were evenly matched, but when Caban sprinted ahead Kon launched forward to tackle him. We went down and landed tangled, all of us shouting and breathless and glad.
posted by Scout | 7:21 PM
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