The sound of the cargo bay door whirring open drew the attention of the man seated at the table, a bottle and glass before him. Seated with his back turned to the door, Keller Dryson lifted his eyes slowly, using the half-empty glass to see the reflection coming toward him, responding with a wry grin. Entering the room with a box full of mechanical parts is a young man in his late teens with jet-black hair and a face streamed with sweat. The young man's eyes dart over to the table with mild curiosity but seeming preoccupation as he continues past the men and their gambling. "Did you get the blasters realigned?" The deep, scratchy voice of the Outer Rim's most notorious bounty hunter, Keller Dryson, asks in a voice that implies more aggravation towards the problem than an anticipation to have it fixed.
"Yes, Father," the young man replies in a tone of annoyance that Keller hadn't automatically assumed that the job was done. "The coils had been burnt to the core, it's a wonder they didn't fall off before you landed." Setting the box down on a stool halfway across the room, the young man holds up a piece of metal with severe scarring. "I don't know why you use these junk parts," he says with the slightest touch of bitter return as he tosses the piece back into the box with little car.
Turning in his chair to face his son, Keller shakes his head. "They've gotten me through some rough spots, so they're good enough for the Enterra," he says, indicating back to the ship just barely visible through the open cargo bay doors. "Besides, even those high-class parts don't hold up well to heavy blast fire." Rising from his seat, Keller pours the last of the bottle into the glass and raises it to his lips as his son snatches the piece he'd been searching for and begins to walk out of the room. "Lance..."
What little momentum the young man had generated dies quickly as he stops and turns slowly on the ball of his foot to turn back around and face his father, his only response is an arch in the brow above one of his hunter green eyes. Now close enough to smell the alcohol in the glass and on his father's breath, Lance stands with his head cocked slightly to the side as he waits for the remainder of the sentence.
"...Draka came by earlier, he has a job for me. Smuggling run through the checkpoints at Yavin 4. The pick-up is in two days." Tilting the glass and letting the smooth liquid burn its way down his throat, Keller seems more preoccupied with the drink than his son's reaction.
Doing some quick figuring, Lance doesn't take long to fire an answer back. "But that means that you'll have to leave tonight! Aunt Remie's funeral is tomorrow!" A combination of shock and anger begin to trickle into the son's voice as he speaks, letting the memories fly in and out quickly. Though not really his aunt, Remie had earned the title by being near the only female influence the young man's entire life, save the occasional girlfriends of his father that had come and gone, some for months, others for only weeks or days.
The reply comes after an extended pause involving a shrug and another drink. "A job is a job. The pay on this one is big."
"Well, what am I supposed to do?"
Now Keller begins to demonstrate his own sense of anger. "I don't know, Lance. Maybe you can actually get out and do something other than wasting my parts on that speeder bike of yours! You're nineteen years old, I'd think that you'd be able to take care of yourself once in a while."
Lance feels his body shrink down from six feet to what seems to be like a mere few inches. Though aging visibly in some aspects, his father is still one of the most intimidating men that Lance has ever laid eyes on. The drink in his hand and in his system only makes for more of Keller's unpredictability. "Not like you've ever been around, anyway," Lance mutters through clenched teeth as he turns to walk away, but the boom of his father's deep voice and the strong hand on his shoulder stops him.
"What did you say?" Keller growls as he sets the glass down on the table with added force, pulling his son back at an angle so that they face each other again.
With a speed-of-hand that seems to catch his father off guard almost as much as the nerve of the action itself, Lance reaches up with his own forearm and bats his father's hand away, causing both their arms to fall back down to their sides as Lance takes a step back. "Nothing," he bitterly returns, adding the last part out of an ironic respect, "...sir. You need to get ready for your run. I'll unplug the druids and send 'em to the Enterra." Even with his disrespect, the sense of duty is instilled too deep within him to break the code.
Still out of sync with reality due to his son's bold action against him, Keller stands for a moment in silence before the payoff for Draka's run floods back into his mind and extracts a smile. Before making his way over to the ship, Keller stops and picks up another bottle.
"Yes, Father," the young man replies in a tone of annoyance that Keller hadn't automatically assumed that the job was done. "The coils had been burnt to the core, it's a wonder they didn't fall off before you landed." Setting the box down on a stool halfway across the room, the young man holds up a piece of metal with severe scarring. "I don't know why you use these junk parts," he says with the slightest touch of bitter return as he tosses the piece back into the box with little car.
Turning in his chair to face his son, Keller shakes his head. "They've gotten me through some rough spots, so they're good enough for the Enterra," he says, indicating back to the ship just barely visible through the open cargo bay doors. "Besides, even those high-class parts don't hold up well to heavy blast fire." Rising from his seat, Keller pours the last of the bottle into the glass and raises it to his lips as his son snatches the piece he'd been searching for and begins to walk out of the room. "Lance..."
What little momentum the young man had generated dies quickly as he stops and turns slowly on the ball of his foot to turn back around and face his father, his only response is an arch in the brow above one of his hunter green eyes. Now close enough to smell the alcohol in the glass and on his father's breath, Lance stands with his head cocked slightly to the side as he waits for the remainder of the sentence.
"...Draka came by earlier, he has a job for me. Smuggling run through the checkpoints at Yavin 4. The pick-up is in two days." Tilting the glass and letting the smooth liquid burn its way down his throat, Keller seems more preoccupied with the drink than his son's reaction.
Doing some quick figuring, Lance doesn't take long to fire an answer back. "But that means that you'll have to leave tonight! Aunt Remie's funeral is tomorrow!" A combination of shock and anger begin to trickle into the son's voice as he speaks, letting the memories fly in and out quickly. Though not really his aunt, Remie had earned the title by being near the only female influence the young man's entire life, save the occasional girlfriends of his father that had come and gone, some for months, others for only weeks or days.
The reply comes after an extended pause involving a shrug and another drink. "A job is a job. The pay on this one is big."
"Well, what am I supposed to do?"
Now Keller begins to demonstrate his own sense of anger. "I don't know, Lance. Maybe you can actually get out and do something other than wasting my parts on that speeder bike of yours! You're nineteen years old, I'd think that you'd be able to take care of yourself once in a while."
Lance feels his body shrink down from six feet to what seems to be like a mere few inches. Though aging visibly in some aspects, his father is still one of the most intimidating men that Lance has ever laid eyes on. The drink in his hand and in his system only makes for more of Keller's unpredictability. "Not like you've ever been around, anyway," Lance mutters through clenched teeth as he turns to walk away, but the boom of his father's deep voice and the strong hand on his shoulder stops him.
"What did you say?" Keller growls as he sets the glass down on the table with added force, pulling his son back at an angle so that they face each other again.
With a speed-of-hand that seems to catch his father off guard almost as much as the nerve of the action itself, Lance reaches up with his own forearm and bats his father's hand away, causing both their arms to fall back down to their sides as Lance takes a step back. "Nothing," he bitterly returns, adding the last part out of an ironic respect, "...sir. You need to get ready for your run. I'll unplug the druids and send 'em to the Enterra." Even with his disrespect, the sense of duty is instilled too deep within him to break the code.
Still out of sync with reality due to his son's bold action against him, Keller stands for a moment in silence before the payoff for Draka's run floods back into his mind and extracts a smile. Before making his way over to the ship, Keller stops and picks up another bottle.