Drake Warren extended his arm to press the switch, and traditionally allowed Samus Aran to pass through the doorway first. He stepped through the door he locked it behind him, and then ruffled a hand through his jet black hair. Samus eyed the chrono figures in between the two bunks, and they read '01:24.' Her sense of time was out of place, and it would be difficult to ease into a sleeping pattern again. Drake sighed as he sat down on his bunk.
"You might feel a little awkward. It sort of is for me" Drake admitted. Samus casually rolled her eyes, discarding his behavior as a complex typical of males.
"Don't get any ideas" she groaned. Drake shook his head.
"You misunderstand, Samus. It's not like… that. The sheer fact of having a woman around is quite… unusually remarkable. You don't know what it's like in the marine core. Sure, some of the younger ones are…" he floated off, but decided not to finish his sentence. "But it's curiosity more than anything. How your kind thinks…"
"My kind?" Samus pointed out. Drake flushed a hand toward her.
"Oh for the love of… You… I'm not… Ah, forget it" Drake said in a muddle. "You wouldn't understand,"
Samus's hands were placed in a lock a few inches above her lap, and her face dipped downward toward them and her perfectly shaped lips formed a smirk of regret.
"I'm sorry, I'll try to take things less personally" she said, half sarcastically. Drake nodded quickly, eager to explain.
"Well don't be sorry. I… all of us here in the core, we've been away from women for so long. Most of us, anyway. You'll get the occasional female within the military but fifty percent of the time she'll have bigger balls than any of the guys" Drake explained. Because his words were said without the slightest hint at humor, Samus uttered a laugh at how seriously his tone was. He looked up at her, hurt.
"What?"
"Nothing, carry on,"
"We just need… change, really. Most of us are around our same kind all the time, and that's until we retire or get a civilian career. You can understand our curiosity, right?"
"Of course" Samus nodded cheerily. "But I'm not the kind of woman that fits the picture,"
"I noticed" Drake said jokingly. It was clear he didn't mean any offense. "I think that's why the Colonel wasn't afraid to assign you to a bunkroom with one of us. He knows you wouldn't take any rubbish,"
"That, and you seem to be quite typical for the core,"
"Uh… eh?"
"Lack of maturity clouds most of 'em. C'mon, even you must see that,"
"I suppose. It is true though, that the higher ranked you are the more you change. All of the Sergeants, well, apart from Carlos, and anyone ranked above them, are significantly different from the rest of us. Most of all, their eyes change. It's like… It's like they've seen more than they were meant to, you know?"
Samus brought her eyes up to his, suddenly thinking that the Corporal was somewhat ignorant.
"Yes" she said blandly. "I know,"
Drake Warren swallowed the topic down his throat, and rubbed his nose to relieve an itch.
"Alright, now tell me. Before, what did you mean?"
"I suppose you're referring to the briefing chamber?"
"Yes" Drake replied, keen on draining some information out of her. Samus moved further onto the bunk she was on, and slanted her body, dressed in the black and emerald off-duty marine uniform, to lean against the wall opposite the door. She bit her lower lip, watching over Drake for a few seconds, and old thoughts flooded through her mind without hesitance. The data overload wasn't able to be processed fast enough, and that's when she came to the conclusion, to start from the beginning. Samus took a deep breath.
"As you know Corporal, I've worked for the Galactic Federation for a good chunk of my life. Seeking bounties, the lot,"
"Yes,"
"All of that sprouted from… from a sense of no belonging…"
Samus closed her eyes. Surely she could fit in her life story before sleeping. But it was something she never shared. It was locked up inside, and the only time her history was accessed, was when her mind escaped her control. The beginning – that was the worst part. Images of horrid bloodshed, shredded hopes and crushed morale. The Space Pirate attack came first. It was almost impossible to comprehend such violence and such cruelty, but the fact remained, that it all happened. And Samus Aran was the sole survivor. Smoldering fires chewing through rubble, limbs scattered across what was once a meeting square, crimson collages of internal organs decorating a pyramid of debris and a Human skull, mashed by the pounding of a Space Pirate's foot. Haunted, twisted images that nobody lived to know about, except Samus herself. Her head rolled back into the wall, smacking her back into reality, and then came the tears. She did her best to hold them back, by no way would she allow those bags of emotion to slip from her eyes without a fight, and even though it was a fight she knew she would lose, there was an attempt of prevention. Drake went to comfort her immediately, like a true gentleman, but there was nothing in the least he could do.
"Samus…" he said softly. "I'm… I'm sorry…"
Drake had no idea what the hell to say. He was useless with understanding how women worked, but he would do his best to mend what he saw, as his fault. He was hesitant about touching her, not because of her reputation, but because he had little idea of what he was dealing with. Samus finally killed the source of the tears and wiped them from her face with a single stroke.
"Get… get away" she ordered urgently. "Get… get away!"
Drake, in a flash, was on the other side of the bunkroom. One whole minute passed, and between them, absolutely nothing was said at all. Drake was worried that he may have discomforted her further, and Samus was constantly trying to block out those morbid pictures from returning. She broke the silence, with a long sigh.
"I can't take it Drake… I'm sorry, but I just can't. I can't have someone breaking my solitude until I learn to deal with some issues I have" she said, her voice still on the border of breaking down again. Drake replied quietly, and confusedly.
"I didn't know, Samus. I was only trying to help,"
"Don't help me" she said firmly. "Nobody helps me,"
The Corporal was totally baffled, and although he was keen on wondering what Samus was on about earlier, by no means did he want to see her cry again.
A cloud of casual conversation floated through the mess hall. Various aromas spread far and wide across the chamber, with blended scents ranging from raw meats to fresh and colorful salads. Marines were everywhere, and some of Corsair's maintenance crew. Not even slightly was Colonel Warrick Gilsmore concerned about who sat next to him in the mess hall of Corsair. There was little time for socializing with the upcoming mission, and because of that, the mess hall served as a sufficient place for the critical mixing of different personalities. This kept the marine's morale high, and morale was just as important as weaponry or armor in the field; if not more so. Sergeant Carlos Sanchez slipped into a seat alongside of the aging brown colored man, and placed a metallic tray on a black tabletop.
"I guess this makes it… six days, right?"
"Right" Gilsmore confirmed. The older man collected a piece of meat soaked in a translucent blue thick sauce with an invisible vacuum energy working around the end of a silver rod, and delivered the food into his mouth. When Gilsmore chewed and swallowed the load down, he noticed an irritating stare from the Sergeant. "Carlos… why the hell do you do that?"
"You know I don't understand how you can like that Geemer stuff, man" Sanchez spoke back, forgetting about formalities in the mess hall. Upon finishing his needless sentence, Corporal Drake Warren tried not to make his presence go too noticed amongst the bickering two. He grinned at the thought of the Colonel behaving like a child. Sanchez though… well, that was normal for him. A few seconds after that, Naoko Aichi pulled out a cheap fold-up seat with contempt, but placed herself down very cleanly. She was distinctive amongst the group of men, because of her thinner, smaller build, and noticeably, her facial features. High, red cheery cheeks, contributed by makeup no doubt, along with black hair tied up in some Japanese traditional fashion, with lacquered scarlet hashi chopsticks, certainly dubbed her a distinctive character amongst the marine core. She was a well-respected member of Blazer Squad however, known to be both deadly with a firearm; and even deadlier with a knife or two.
"Hey Nao, do the thing with your chopsticks" Sanchez asked boyishly. "Please" he added hopefully. Naoko, better known as Nao to everyone around her, twitched her small lips and then gave the Sergeant a wink.
"I did it yesterday,"
"I know but it's really cool" Sanchez said, his voice almost a whine.
"And they're hashi chopsticks" she said with a warning in her tone. Sanchez shook his head from side to side.
"Yeah, yeah! Just do it. Please?" he asked one last time. Nao, in secret, loved pulling off fancy finger acrobatics with her hashi, only so she could die of laughter witnessing some of the foolish ones try to imitate her. She put on a false expression of dismay, before whipping a single hashi from her hair, flipping it around for what seemed several thousand times in the massive enveloping blur, and for the final touch, slashed it downward between two very narrowly spaced fingers on her free hand, and the chopstick suddenly formed into a solid between the gap.
"I've seen that one," Gilsmore commented teasingly, "You'll have to dig up some new tricks, I'm afraid,"
Sanchez chuckled to himself throughout Gilsmore's comment.
"I for one will never get bored of that. Besides, one day she might screw up and drill a hole through her finger. That'd be pretty cool" the immature Sergeant giggled away. While plugging the hashi back into her hair style, Nao gave him a sardonic look.
"Thanks, Sarge,"
Drake Warren kept somewhat quiet, even after Nao's little exhibition, and continued to slowly progress through his food. After finishing a mouthful, Gilsmore looked up at him.
"I hope nothing's happening between you and your new bunkmate, Drake" he said firmly. Drake stopped with a rod-full of food halfway through a motion to bring it up to his mouth, and looked up, surprisingly.
"Chit-chat at the most, Colonel. I assure you" he filled in. A dissatisfied look he wish he hadn't let slip emerged on his face as he continued with his breakfast. Gilsmore had expected it.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Of course" Drake replied, this time annoyed.
"I hope so. You know the only reason I let this one go was because there were no other rooms on the ship available and I wasn't going to put her in a holding cell,"
"Yeah, whatever" Drake said, not particularly interested with the topic anymore. Sanchez kept his eyes to himself.
"Why we made him a Corporal when he talks like that, Warrick" Sanchez said.
"Speaking of which," Drake suddenly spoke up amusingly, "Who in their right mind would make you a Sergeant?"
Gilsmore started to laugh when he realized the joke was directed at him. This caused Drake further amusement.
"Bah, I'm getting seconds" he mumbled, departing from the table. Sanchez's face swiftly beamed with awareness as Gilsmore was out of hearing range.
"You were being straight, weren't you, Corporal?" the Sergeant asked, pulling rank. "You know there's one thing I can't have in my squad. And if you somehow… got started on a relationship with Miss Aran then I can't ignore it,"
"Sarge, please. You're making me feel like I've done something wrong. We both know I'm mature enough to handle myself around the occasional outland woman. That's why after all; Gilsmore assigned her to my bunkroom, right?" Drake said, losing his patience to a minor degree. Nao gave Sanchez, who was on the adjacent of Drake on the square table, a reassuring nod.
"I can smell these things, Sarge. Give him a break, and loosen up. The Colonel should too,"
"Is that right…" Sanchez replied into nobody in particular. The mess hall, with a blue grey tint to it, fell silent with a new entrant stepped through the opening slide doors. Drake paused from his breakfast, and looked up to see what the blanket of silence was for. He muttered under his breath. He had warned her not to show up in the mess hall for refreshment, but to stick to the corporate side of things instead. Of course, something told him she didn't particularly listen. The rows and rows of eyes peered at Samus, as if she were some kind of disease causing agent, as she slowly made her way through the room. Eyes wouldn't affect her, though. Neither would thoughts. Even Gilsmore had stopped at the canteen, wondering what in blazes she was doing in the mess hall. There would be discrimination against her from some of the less informed marines surely, but that wasn't what he was worried about. A bald young man by the name of Richter Nassis removed himself from his table, and slowly approached Samus from her left. Gilsmore sighed. Preemptively step in he could, but, that way the marines wouldn't learn their lesson. Richter would be the first and last warning to the entire marine core.
"I think you better go, sweetheart," Richter said with a scumbag manner. "Might be a bit too rough for ol' Samus,"
There he went, without seconds to spare. He was only in the air for a couple of seconds, before he landed somewhere in the rightmost corner of the mess hall near to the double-doors. A part of Gilsmore wanted to laugh, but he held it, and his face remained unsurprised and strict. Samus continued her journey through until she reached Drake's table, and while the room was still dead silent with shocked eyes, Samus decided to add a little comment.
"Nice place" she remarked to Drake. Drake didn't quite have the guts at that time to look at her directly, but fortunately, she continued onto the canteen. Gilsmore continued with his selection of intergalactic casseroles so Samus could be done quickly, and then returned to his table. Thankfully, people in the room started muttering, and then full-scale conversation broke out. The topics were questionable. Gilsmore didn't touch his food tray when he sat down.
"Drake…" he said, about to explode.
"I don't know! I told her to keep in the corporate side!" he cried in his defense.
"Oh don't blame the Corporal here" Samus smiled, as she appeared above Nao's head. "Just thought I could use some conversation. Besides, that…" she said, tilting her head toward the limping private, "… was fun,"
Nao was surprised at the newcomer's attitude.
"I'm… sure it was" she said tensely. Nao was a fierce marine, but it seemed momentarily she had competition. Samus took a seat on an unoccupied side of the table.
"Sorry about that Colonel. I don't want to be a pain. I just can't stand corporates and their blasted red carpet" she claimed. Gilsmore nodded, understandingly.
"Of course, Miss Aran,"
"Call me Samus" the hunter said quickly. Drake scratched his forehead uncomfortably. He didn't like this too much.
The slender man brushed his hand over his freshly shaven cheeks and buried his head in his pillow, as though being caught naked by a ship full of tourists.
"Don't be so cynical" Samus said playfully.
"Samus, no offense, but you really have to sharpen up on those social skills of yours,"
"It was necessary to chuck that little man through the hall. It made a valid point,"
"And gave him a valid bloody broken leg, too" Drake added quickly. He sat up. "It's over now. Just…"
"Yeah, yeah… I get the idea" Samus said, swallowing it down. There was silence for a moment as a gateway for a new subject dawdled through the air. "Sorry about last night, my past is a very unstable thing. You deserve to know what I was going to tell you, but…"
"You can skip your history, I understand. What you know, you know for a reason, I'll accept that and even take it at face value. Like you said, you've seen things I can't even begin to imagine,"
Samus raised an eyebrow. She was impressed; he had just made things astoundingly easy for her.
"Thank you" she said gratefully. "Here's the grub, Drake,"
Drake felt a mild sense of achievement when she mentioned him casually by his name for the first time; however none of it was evident on his face. For some reason, it seemed that being around Samus had somehow raised his skill in hiding emotion. Was that a bad thing? "Corporates, they're pulling off some sort of deal, which I think is with the Space Pirates,"
Naturally, Drake couldn't accept the idea of Corsair's own occupants conspiring against the marines. He took a deep breath, and Samus realized coming out with the truth so quickly was an error on her part.
"Samus, just… stop. Do you realize what you're saying?" Drake questioned with an arcane expression.
"I know exactly what I'm saying" she said firmly, and leaned in closer to the man. "The mission commission has pulled off a deal; I heard two suits go on about it,"
"Then why haven't you gone to Gilsmore, or someone…" Drake groaned, still rejecting the scheme.
"Who would believe me? I can't even get you to believe me" she said with a hint of resentment. Drake sighed and tried to contemplate if she knew what she was dealing with.
"Carry on" he hesitantly said.
"I was at the mission commission, on this ship, and they denied me any pay whatsoever for terminating Ridley or any of the space pirates. To say the least I was little ticked off, and I was curious whether the conversation this… Terrald guy was about to have involved the rejection of my money. But this other guy… he mentioned a deal was just pulled off. Then he said something about the marines,"
"I'm… I'm not seeing your point here" Drake said, still not considering the possibility. Samus bit her lower lip before replying.
"No… No, because you're trained not to ask questions, right?"
Drake buried his head in cupped hands.
"What are you getting at?" he asked, the caution in his voice not holding back.
"The mission commission is up to something. You're a fool if you can't see it,"
"Samus, what you're proclaiming here is absurd. For almost a hundred years the mission commission has conducted successful and legitimate operations. I just… You must understand that I cannot comprehend in the slightest part what you're saying. You understand that, don't you?" Drake explained desperately. Samus didn't reply immediately this time, but instead exhaled a long breath, and came up from her bed to sit next to Drake. Her voice was a calm whisper, but somehow, her tone was urgent.
"Drake, you have to believe me. You have to ask yourself why I would be making this up. You have to ask yourself why I would want to throw you off track like this before an important mission…"
Drake's face was sour, and for a moment Samus felt hope as his expression seemed to be contemplating the possibility of her words, but he shook it loose.
"No!" he said abruptly. "No, I can't accept that… Can't accept any of it…"
Samus nodded slowly, and understood her attempt at convincing the Corporal was in vain. She dropped her head, and gave up for now. There were other methods of proving the point.