(Music: "Sour", by GALXARA)
Anya and Curly entered the lower floor of the terrarium, sifting through the crowds of partygoers- Curly's hand gently wrapped around Anya, who was following him with reminiscing ponderance and unmitigated thinking. The several speakers lined throughout the massive metroplex were booming a serious banger that was loud enough, yet not overwhelming to the ears like planetary clubs were; a surprisingly soothing auditory experience.
It was no understatement to say that Anya believed herself to be in some sort of hallucination- the concept of resurrection, seeing Curly in his original state, grappling with the last few hours of events... all of this had completely whiffed past her mind. Dying from painkillers was a major blow to her comprehension capabilities, and the lunatic events she was being bombarded with were no help to her mental recovery.
Curly, meanwhile, was nearing the point that Anya was currently in; a myriad of horrors, emotions, trauma, and memories ravaging his mindset and sanity. Yet he was able to stay focused, trying to find an isolated place where he and Anya could have some time alone- even if they didn't talk at all. Every step he took through the crowds of crewmates was another head-pounding, heart-stopping second of a sea of emotions sweeping around inside him like a maelstrom.
He needed somewhere quiet, somewhere isolated, with Anya.
"Heyo."
Curly exhaled in frustration as he heard someone call out to him, and turned to see-
J-I-M-M-Y-?-?-!-!
No... no, it was someone else, someone who looked eerily like that piece of shit. His face, hair, stubble, and eyebags were almost identical, save for a short goatee & mustache, and wary, calm eyes that were the exact opposite of Jimmy's' frantic and contempt-held gaze.
"W-What is it?" Curly muttered in slight irritation. The Jimmy replica looked between himself and a younger, South Asian male with short-black hair and an intense gaze.
"Just... wanted to meet ya. I'm Danny, and this is Ali."
He gestured to Ali, who raised a hand in greeting somewhat awkwardly. Curly looked between the two of them, waiting for some further reply. The trauma of the past was a constant infringement on Curly's conversational abilities and socialization with others, impeding all forms of cognitive function in his brain.
"Okay?"
"I actually wanted to say," Ali prompted the conversation. "I can understand if you guys feel overwhelmed by all these people. I told Hawkes he shouldn't have shoved the recently Resurr-... ahem, Returned, into a giant metroplex full of people at the start."
Curly nor Anya were particularly disturbed by the surrounding crowds. If anything, it was far more soothing in contrast to the eerie, remote atmosphere of the Tulpar they'd spent years in. But at this moment, Curly wanted some time with Anya- just to find some comfort for this ever-present panic and aromatic horror seeping into his mind.
"So, with that said," Ali continued. "If you need some space and privacy, head for the aesthetic observatory that's connected to the terrarium, it's a few stairs up, and then take a right."
Curly was surprised that he had attained exactly what he needed from this man. He nodded gratefully.
"Thank you, Ali. We'll be off now."
With heavy eyes and a heavier mind, Curly gently pulled Anya further along, drifting through the masses to get to the terrarium. Danny and Ali watched them head off, silently forming their own opinions.
"I didn't know those two were a thing," Ali remarked, and Danny scratched his head.
"I sure didn't expect it, though it almost seems like a common trope. Captain and the medic? Yeah, this whole scenario could be a rom-com or drama show, for sure."
"A rom-com?"Ali questioned him. Danny narrowed his eyes in response.
"What, do you have some vendetta against funny romances? That's my favorite genre, sorry to tell you."
"Uh, no, it's more like what screams rom-com about a brutally killed/maimed couple that came back to life with massive PTSD?"
Danny shot him a look of confidence.
"Really? That doesn't sound like a hilarious romantic plot?"
"Maybe if you're deranged."
Curly had finally found the 'aesthetic observatory' after climbing a set of stairs with directions and opening a set of double doors on the 3rd level above the terrarium. It was a large, windowed view of the cosmos in a hemispheric, 360 direction. Chairs, couches and TVs were set up around the area, along with a few speakers for music. Curly morosely walked past a few sets of chairs, before setting on a couch with a view of the Staski Nebula; an ever-swirling, purple-tinged cluster of space dust, energy and stars scattered across its open and messy canvas.
Curly took a seat, finally releasing Anya's hand and exhaling with force. The mental toil foisted upon him was exhausting to his physical state, and he was sweating in no time. Anya's sanity and awareness had gradually recovered, primarily thanks to the copious drinking that released her mind from a mound of stress that spawned upon resurrection. She gazed around at her environment, trying to put the pieces together in her brain to slowly comprehend her surroundings.
Curly relaxed back on the couch, staring at the stars. He didn't want to immediately try and talk to Anya; he wanted to leave the both of them to silence for a while, to adjust and relax in this cozy and empty observatory. His eyes felt ever-tired, yet they would not shut and grant him sleep- as if his mind were holding him hostage, forcing him to confront all the horrible trauma he'd endured on that ship. He could barely think without revisiting the haunting memories; barely speak without reminiscing on his formerly-charred state; could barely breathe without remembering how torturous this simple action was only a day ago.
With little drive and overwhelming exhaustion, he simply slouched back and stared at the innumerable stars, nebulae, and dark space spread across the observatory's wide range.
(Music: "Dream Sweet in Sea Major", by Miracle Musical)
Curly's thoughts were emptied. He found staring at the stars to be an indescribably beautiful experience; he'd never gotten the chance for, months on end, to gaze out over the cosmos as he did here. It reminded him that life wasn't just cold, hard hell every moment of his life- even though it had overwhelmingly felt like it for as long as he could remember; the damage to his psyche had practically erased most memories of his past before the Tulpar's crash.
One thing he knew; there was nothing to go back to on his home planet. He'd become a freighter captain because the last of his family had died in the Thyrrian civil war twenty years ago. He'd escaped hell, and came back to nothing; and yet, he'd never felt more free in his entire life than now.
His guilt over... what he did to his crew was overwhelming to the point of tainting his vision with infrequent memories of the horror he'd experienced. Yet simultaneously, his mind was akin to an open cage, a bird freed from the cruelest fate imaginable, renewed and reformed- reborn with a second chance he nor humanity ever thought possible.
He felt awash with the highest euphoria a human could conceive.
His body was fully reformed; his crew returned to life. Yet no matter how many miraculous or fortunate events he came across, it did barely anything to erase the past from his mind. Every second he had to fight off the memory of searing agony across his entire body; every second he was forced to re-center himself in this reality, to not suck himself back into the unthinkable terror of before.
Just by the end of this day, he felt as if he'd fought through an entire war to reach this mode of relaxation and rapturous ecstasy.
"Curly...?"
Curly could barely bring himself to respond out of fatigue and anesthetic-like bliss, but he made an extremely strenuous effort to do so out of a bottomless love for her; a love he had only felt at the crux of her death and the renewal of her life. A love he was conflicted with, wondering if he was even deserving of this at all.
"Y...e...s?"
"...We had... flings... before. I know neither of us... thought of it as... anything serious. It shouldn't be... something I think about... this much. But..."
Curly felt compelled with monumental effort to raise himself from the couch, recomposing to look Anya in the eye when she spoke.
"Y...Yes, Anya?" He muttered with shivering hands and quivering lips, averting his eyes. It took everything in his mind and body to not crumple to the ground and sob inconsolably as he glimpsed the depth of her desolate eyes for even a second.
His heart nearly broke into a million pieces as he glimpsed her face again. Her eyes were sunken, filled with sadness, and anger, and disillusion. Her demeanor was slumped; she had given up on life, and was forced back into it without any warning. And without even needing to see it, he could tell her brain was in shambles, trying to pick its pieces back up and fit them together again. With every second she came to comprehend her new reality, the more she seemed to unravel at her core, forced to remake herself from scratch.
He couldn't bear to see her like this. His wish to bring her back almost seemed like a curse, the more he noticed her mental struggles. She managed to speak once more, after painstakingly composing her thoughts.
"...I'm really scared, Curly. I-I know I'm.. more safe than ever... but I can't stop feeling... terrified from head to toe. I just... want comfort, I want... something familiar I can hold."
She slowly slid her hand across the couch, crossing her fingers over his hand. Tears gently streamed down her face as she muttered fearfully.
"I missed you so much, Curly. I was so afraid after the... the crash. I wanted to break down sobbing every time I entered Medical and saw you, crying in pain. But... but... why... why did you crash the ship? Why did you-"
Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump.
Curly could barely hear Anya over the sound of blood pumping in his ears. Before he even realized it, a raging storm had wracked him with a cold, shivering fury filled with desires to murder Jimmy as violently as he could conceive.
"I didn't crash the ship."
Anya recoiled at his answer, skepticism playing around in her pupils.
"..."
Her silence was damning, and only poured gasoline on a massive bonfire of emotional turmoil.
"I handed the keys to him."
Curly could barely get the words out, his throat choking on the apoplexy building up in his stomach. Anya's eyes averted to the ground, as if in deep thought. Curly could barely start to see her as his eyesight grew hazy with irrepressible malevolence.
"...I believe you."
Curly couldn't stomach Anya's comforting words, and stood up from the couch, grabbing a leg of the coffee table in front of them and hurling it across the room with hulkish strength and a hideous roar of pinpoint aggression.
WH-OOOOOSH-WH-OOOSH!
The coffee table spun like a disc, barreling with great velocity toward the wall.
CRACK-SLAM!
The coffee table dismantled on contact, leaving a considerably large dent in the wall and debris of wood, glass, and nails below it. The unnatural strength behind the throw was extremely obvious, shocking both Curly and Anya. Curly stared down at his hands, momentarily knocked out of his bloodlust as he tried to comprehend this newfound strength. He had only felt a moderate amount of strain in one-handing the coffee table.
What the f...fuck? He pondered incredulously, recalling what might have led to this-
Was it that fucking doctor? Did he... did he do something to me?
"C-Curly, that was... insane."
"Y-Yeah..." Curly muttered, a resurgence of bloodlust and sadistic malice washing anew over his thought process. He could torture Jimmy like this. He could rip his limbs off and let him taste a moment of what Curly suffered. He caused him so much SUFFERING. He'd spent months thinking about everything, especially what he could and couldn't feel. The burns were so bad on his outer layer he couldn't feel any part of his skin; but beneath it, in the lower layers, in the muscle and sinew and tissue and bone, he could feel those burns. And they were awful. It was horrendous. Even now, recalling it, just recalling it- He could AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA still feel a drop of its terrible embrace.
J-I-M-M-Y-Y-Y-Y.
"Imma fucking kill him. I'm gonna fucking kill him. I'm gonna fuckin- Hah! Hah!"Curly muttered manically to himself, trying to release the pent-up rage and unsettling malice plaguing his mind like a dizzying curse. Anya stood up from the couch and walked over to him, cupping his hands.
"Curly."
Curly's frenzy somewhat realigned to lucidity, his lost eyes settling back on Anya's face.
"Curly... would you like to... to... go on a date?"
His mind immediately froze as Anya awkwardly posed the question to him- such a wholesome request didn't factor in immediately with his spiraling worldview, and only a few seconds later did he work out the words in his brain. His eyes immediately sparked with a fiery passion, his body filling with adrenaline and serotonin rapidly.
"Y-You... Anya...re... real..ly?"
"Yes. Yes, I mean it. I... feel safe and comfortable around you, Curly. If I have to live...I want to live next to your side. When I was... when I was dying in Medical, I wanted to be next to you. I've.. I've come back. And I can't... I can't lose this feeling of... of comfort and security around you since."
Even though it was just a simple date, the conversation sounded more like a marriage proposal, and Curly's reaction was somewhat similar to receiving such news. He began to laugh in utter relief, wiping the tears from his reddened eyes and embracing Anya as gently as he would a mouse.
"Can we... walk around this place?" Curly whispered softly in her ear. "We'll... be here for a while, I bet. I... want to look around while... while it's nice and peaceful, and quiet." He pressed his face into her hair, exhaling and inhaling softly as he savored her familiar scent. Her strands of silky black hair ran across his face and cheeks, softly grasping at his skin.
Love. Love. Love.
Anya nodded softly, nuzzling her face against his cheek. That familiar feeling of stubble scratching her face was more soothing than any therapy she could have received. Safety. That was the most prominent feeling in her. All those months on the Tulpar, she was in constant terror, fearing her safety and life around the co-captain. It was like a mouse trapped in a cage with a dormant snake, constantly terrorized and panicking, exhausted and unsettled, unfocused and non-confrontational.
She had been in utter despair for such a long time, she had hardly known any other emotions. After she'd returned on this ship, seeing Curly in his original state... nothing in any lexicon in the entire world would have been sufficient to describe what she'd felt. Absolute joy, peace, and transcendence. A deep, ineffable feeling- a state that touches the soul, the mind and the body in its fullest expression of happiness.
An intense and inescapable expression of love that exuded from every fiber of her being, for Curly and the world around her. A sense of radiance, of profound bliss which had, slowly, over time, pushed back against the mind-rending dread and seared trauma of the past.
All those months in despair, on that ship, she had spent desperately trying to escape that fate. Trying to escape the sorrow and grief of seeing Curly in that state, the terror of the co-captain taking charge, the dread of knowing they were stranded in remote deepspace, destined to die.
Even in her final moments, locking the medical bay door and downing dozens of pills, she had been desperate, like a rat in a tightening cage, frantically trying to escape that reality.
And this was that escape. She had reached it. The reality she wanted. How could she not be the happiest person in the universe?
The closest possible word, to describe would have been...
NIRVANA.
"Yes, Curly. Let's walk."
Elsewhere, three garrison officers were sitting in a security booth at the center of the ship, passing the time with infrequent chatter and momentary amusements. An ancient iPhone was connected to a set of 2150s-era speakers, blasting (Not A Beanie', by bbno$) throughout the large interior they were stationed in. Although they were given a loose directive to 'not drink or drugs' (that's exactly how it was printed on the directive), the three garrison officers had snuck multiple packs of beer from the terrarium for casual sipping. Most of the garrison officers stationed around the ship during the ceremony had done the same; even though they would have all day tomorrow to do the same thing in the terrarium.
"I'm never letting you choose the music again, Franz." sneered Corporal Wagner, the most senior among the three. "The duty of the aux-haver is to sense the music choice of the group and pick the compromise. This is the opposite of that, you greedy sumbitch."
Private Franz was half-ignoring him as he bopped his head rhythmically to the beat, trying to take a sip of his beer but spilling more than a few drops on his uniform because it was hard to drink while bobbing his head to the music.
"Listen, it's not my fault you have horrendous taste in music." Franz retorted rather casually. "The compromise is an average of all three tastes, and it just so happens that your music choice created an imbalance in that average because it's ass, and so we ended up with this."
"That is the most incoherent, nonsensical bullshit argument I've heard in the last two weeks from you. Yancy, tell him!"
Wagner pointed at Specialist Yancy, who was chilling utterly in the chair- primarily because he'd just taken a couple of shrooms and was now in supreme bliss. Yancy shrugged as indifferently as Switzerland being asked to join World War II.
"I'm vibin'." He replied simply. Wagner's head dipped in disappointment.
"You unreliable sloth. Anyways, I'm picking the next one, since I clearly can't trust either of you to do it."
"Hey!" Franz pushed back. "That's not how the bet went! You lost, so it's lowest to highest seniority. Yancy gets to go next!"
Wagner cringed, then sighed.
"Ah, whatever... Alright, song's over, change it."
"Okay, damn!" Franz said with great offense. "What are you, a professional hater?"
Franz handed the iPhone to Yancy, who sloppily scrolled through the app and chose a song. ('Castle of Glass', by Linkin Park) started ramping up over the speakers, paralleled by the audible groans of both Franz and Wagner.
"I can't possibly comprehend how an indie lover like you survived the centuries." Wagner snarked at him.
"Yeah, this shit ass." Franz voiced quite belligerently.
"First, this isn't indie, dumbshit, it's hard rock. Second, you are a whole ass, Franz. Your entire body... is one big pair of fuckin' cheeks." Yancy fired back with slurred words.
"I get cheeks, unlike you, Doofus Supreme." Franz replied.
"You're cheeks at 'Carrier Assault 2', that's for sure."
"That's an unfair analysis."
"How? Literally how? You placed 482nd out of the entire ship last tournament, broski."
"That was last tournament, bud. What was that, 4 months ago? I've been obliterating every challenger I got since then."
"Sure, buddy. Whatever helps ya sleep at night."
"Tell ya what, when you've come out of your medicinal coma, you can challenge me and I'll soundly beat your ass from stern to bow."
"Challenge accepted, bitchboy."
"Alright, song's over," Wagner chirped in, snatching the iPhone from Yancy's hands and plugging in his choice. A few seconds later, ('Stuck In The Middle With You', by Stealers Wheel) projected from the speakers. Wagner sat back in his chair with a sigh of relief, and to the audible frustration of Franz and Yancy.
"This guy must have been cryo'ed from the year 2000 and never moved on from their music." Franz casually threw out scathingly.
"Hearing this has managed to increase my sobriety somehow, horrifically," Yancy groaned, much to the contemptuous chuckling of Wagner.
"It's from the 1970s, you ahistorical assclowns. This song perfectly encapsulates how I feel right now. Clown to the left, joker to the right, here I am, stuck with you retards until the celebration tomorrow."
"Oh, speaking of that," Franz interjected. "I heard from a maintenance friend of mine that a few of the Returned left the Captain's Suite and are wandering around the ship. You think we'll see them?"
"I... kinda hope so, not gonna lie." Yancy muttered. "I'd really like to ask some questions, and see how they talk and behave after coming back from the dead."
"If we do see them," Wagner commented, glancing between the two of them. "You best remember the recent directive."
The two of them nodded sincerely. After the revivals had been completed, Captain Hawkes had sent out a directive to every crewmate on board to prohibit themselves from speaking to the Returned while using any words implicating death or their past. His explanation had been detailed as such:
"The Returned are an anomaly both mentally and physically, as of now, which means all talks of death, mentioning the Tulpar, probing into their past, or otherwise using words that could cause a mental trigger are strictly prohibited. If you cannot reliably follow this directive, refrain from speaking to them at all or being within earshot of the Returned."
As much as they liked to joke around and do dumb shit, the garrison officers were wholly dedicated and loyal to their Captain. No matter their rank or years of service for the Argonaut, respect and loyalty was ingrained in every single crewmate, either by their seniors or by their own experiences with the Captain. It was a self-cultivating environment of order and discipline, founded on over 30 years of veterancy.
"Well, that aside," Franz dismissed the issue. "Have either of you stacked any bodies in the last month?"
"What kind of 'bodies' are we talking about here?" Yancy questioned him.
"So that's a 'no' from you, then." Franz replied dismissively.
"No, you stupid bitch, I want clarification."
"Clarify these nuts on your chin."
"You asked this last month, Franz," Wagner remarked. "Stop asking us about our sex life, you desperate whore."
Franz shrugged dramatically.
"Well, what? You wanna talk about the weather? Oh damn, it really looks nice outside! All thatlack of oxygenandfreezing environmentsure makes for a perky day!"
"Unfunny, 0/10, not enough testosterone."
"Keep talking, I'll fold you like a FUCKIN' OMELET, BOY!"
(Music: "Achilles, Come Down", by Gang of Youths)
Curly and Anya walked slowly, gently, through the corridors of the ship, hands clasped firmly with a life-bonded affection. It was quiet, much unlike the creaky and boisterous interior of the Tulpar; all the machinery and inner workings of this ship hummed so quietly it could have been interpreted as complete silence.
They exchanged starry gazes.
Their gazes were locked; hands entwined like century-old vines. For every word they didn't speak, a thousand more were conveyed through their eyes.
Curly and Anya were both reveling in an otherworldly euphoria as they moved through the ship like gentle phantoms, admiring the sleek design and futuristic architecture. At times, they would nudge shoulders, stop, and hug each other for an indeterminate amount of time, basking in each other's pure-hearted joy and fluffy intimacy.
Curly released from the hug, softly grabbing the underside of Anya's hand and running his fingers along hers, her palm, her veins and wrist, her forearm and shoulder,admiring heras if she were the mostperfect sculpture in the universe.
Anya was completely receptive to his every action; she felt as if their souls had grown close to one another, as if there were a piece of him with her, and a piece of hers with him. A shared spirituality that transcended the mortal feelings she held her whole life.
You are real,Curly thought in waves of continual relief as he traced her body, feeling contact with her skin and the blood rushing beneath it.You are more real than the world itself.
Curly moved his hands up to her face, gently palming her rosy cheeks and rubbing the outer cartilage of her ears. He feltmagnetizedtowards her. Wondrous. Marvelous. Unspeakably miraculous.
His eyes grew closer to hers, closer... closer... until his pupils were only an inch from hers. An infinite yearning, curiosity, exuberance, exaltation,love.
Love, love, love~!
Anya felt compelled to raise her right hand, using her thumb to trace his lip, rubbing against the angel-white teeth concealed behind his gums. How could every part of a person be so beautiful, so enrapturing, so enthralling?
There they stood, admiring each other endlessly, perceiving one another as the most magnificent of paintings, the most arresting of gazes, the zeniths of perfection.
"Curly..." "Anya..."
The perfect word was on their minds, the perfect word to say to one another. And yet, their mouths couldn't move. Their tongues wouldn't budge. Their bodies shivered with unknowing hesitation.
Say it. Say it, Curly willed himself. The deathly guilt of his past, what his actions and inactions did to her and the crew, muzzled him with untold regret and self-hatred.
Speak the word, Anya coaxed herself. SPEAK IT NOW!
The terror of possibility haunted her. The possibility that, as soon as she said it, this mirage of heaven would disappear, and she would be back in that unspeakable, horrible ship, seeing a maimed Curly writhing on the medical couldn't bear to exist if that was even a remote possibility.
To them, this was the most nerve-wracking, hair-raising, anxiety-inducing moment of their entire lives, for wholly separate reasons.
To anyone else who happened to be watching -like the three security guards at the booth gawking from only a few meters away- this was an extremely socially awkward and disturbing sight to bear witness to. All three of their faces were contorted in bewilderment, concern and embarrassment. The initial shock of seeing this bizarre sight had disrupted their minds so rapidly they hardly had time to reasonably conclude these were the Returned mentioned earlier.
Rather rudely, Franz called out to them, unable to stand the awkwardness.
"Hey, uh, you guys? The, uh, private rooms are down the corridor, to the left."
The abruptness from Franz had momentarily knocked Curly and Anya out of their entranced states, craning their eyes towards the three officers. For a brief moment, Curly's mind had removed the all-encompassing guilt.
And for that very brief moment, Curly felt nothing from holding him back. He turned his mountainous gaze on Anya, her widened eyes returning the same.
"Anya, I love you!"
Anya reacted with visible, animated shock, as if the words had reverberated throughout her bones and bounced around in her head. Propelled by his forward declaration, she grabbed his arms and clutched them as if he would fall through the world.
"GRANT, I LOVE YOU!"
Anya cried the declaration of love, pulling him forward and pressing her lips against his.
A kiss. A kiss across lives, across time, across oceans of despair and astronomical units of terror.
A kiss... just for Curly. For the man she loved more than life.
A kiss... just for Anya. For the woman he loved more than existence.
Every second was alight with fire, blood, smoke, mud, explosions, fireworks, laughter, applause, nebulae, singing. Their worlds felt noisy, chaotic, dazzling, comforting, tranquil, colorful, and magnificent.
Angels unfurled their wings to caress the many folds of their souls, soothing the experiences that tainted them, providing the bedrock of recovery that would purify their hearts, and lead them to the greatest future conceivable. The stars cried out their names, envious of the burning passion they radiated from their cores.
Not a single moment passed that faded in elation. The world became bright, its surroundings hopeful, its imposition welcoming. Their bodies felt light, their minds unburdened. It felt real. It was real. This love was more real than anything the universe could offer them. It was all they wanted. It was all they needed. Nothing. Else. Mattered.
What a dangerous thing it was, to love.
...
...
...
The three officers, meanwhile, were entirely disinterested in this pop-up romance, and had slowly and silently gotten up out of their chairs and creeped towards the terrarium; this was a fantastic excuse to use the directive as a reason to leave their post.
'But Captain, you said if we couldn't reliably follow the directive, we should refrain from speaking to them!'
The three of them cackled mischievously, heading to their barracks to change; it was common knowledge (even if it was forbidden by the Captain) among garrison officers that most of the seniority and leadership didn't care if garrison officers left their posts as long as they were not gunnery, bridge or engineering posts- the primary functions of a ship that needed to have oversight 24/7 in the event of an emergency.
In other words, those poor bastards were forced to sit there while most other garrison officers snuck out from their posts to join in on the party. Franz felt a tad bit bad for them, but ultimately that empathy was dashed away in a second- he'd worked those positions before, and didn't recall any of the other garrison officers giving a shit.
Well fuck 'em, he thought to himself. I'm off-duty tomorrow, I'm doin' a fuckin keg stand tonight! YIPPEEE!
(Music: "MILLION DOLLAR BABY", by Tommy Richman)
"I got a, uhhhh... uh... what game are we playing again?" Daisuke inquired drunk off his ass, holding the cards in his hands with confusion. He was promptly pelted by yet another round ice ball by an equally intoxicated Hawkes, who was starting to look slightly irritated. Daisuke fell back against the lounge couch as if he'd just been shot.
"This is the fifth time, Daishhhuke. POKER! WE'RE PLAYING POKER!"
Swansea burped boisterously, on the same level of non-sobriety as the two sitting to either side. He eyed his cards with deep concentration, focused on winning the game.
"I shuppose you cocks can't be bothered to shhhut up. Plaayyy your cards already, DAISUKE!"
Daisuke, sorting through all two of his cards furiously, promptly seemed as if his brain lit up.
"Oh! Oh! I have aaaaaa, uh, a Jack and a Queen!"
Hawkes facepalmed, being the dealer for this game. There was a noticeable red handprint across his face as he removed his fingers, and Swansea burst out laughing as he saw it.
"Daisuke," Hawkes said calmly, trying to conceal his frustration as sobriety crept back into his mind. "You don't reveal your cards to us until the river is finished. The river of cards here," He pointed to the three cards parallel to one another on the table. "These cards are paired with your cards if they are a winning hand. You can have all kinds of hands, like a straight, a pair, a royal flush, a four of a kind... I explained this about three times in the last hour... please..."
Daisuke stared at him, trying his best to comprehend what he'd just heard.
"...There's a river on the ship? Like a Lazy River?!"
Hawkes wanted to gouge his eyes out and pelt them at Daisuke with the force of a baseball pitcher. He steadied himself, exchanging Daisuke's cards with a new set and returning to his seat. Daisuke inspected his cards with the utmost scrutiny.
"...A six and a King."
"FUCK THIS GAME!" Hawkes shouted in outrage, upending the table and storming over to Roble."GET ME MORE ICE BALLS, NOW!"
"NoOoOoOoOoOo!" Daisuke cried out, covering his head as he ran for cover behind the toppled table. Ice balls pelted the front of the table in a rapid-fire fury as Hawkes launched them one after another from the bucket Roble was holding. Swansea sighed, reaching for his wine glass on the end table to his right.
"You clowns can't even keep your attention for a simple game of poker."
"Heyyy, that's not true!" Daisuke slurred. "I tried my beesssst!"
"You have the attention span of a coked-up squirrel!" Hawkes accused him, grabbing another ice ball and throwing it just as Daisuke ducked back below cover. Swansea got up from the chair, moving towards the window that overlooked the terrarium and its attendees.
"Compared to that piece of shit, this place is... phenomenal." Swansea reminisced, softly swirling the wine in his cup as he referenced the Tulpar. "Shit, everything on here is just... appealing."
Hawkes tossed the ice ball he was holding back in the bucket and walked over to Swansea, staring at his subordinates below.
"It takes humans to know humans." Hawkes replied. "We aren't some cold, corporatist agency or a vicious, gloomy military federation. Our homeworld was built on solidarity and trust in our neighbors, our acquaintances, and our countrymen and women. We never forgot those principles, no matter what bullshit we faced. After venturing across half the galaxy, I can safely conclude that we're likely the only nation with such luck. It's just a big, despotic hellscape everywhere else, with varying degrees of prosperity and oppression."
Swansea chuckled wryly.
"You ain't wrong. Feels like I don't belong here- or more like, this whole situation feels like it doesn't belong in this universe. It's just... it's out of place from what I've known my whole life."
"I agree with you more than you can conceive," Hawkes assured him. "But I've learned to embrace it. It will be much easier to rebuild mankind with this otherworldly development."
This time, he turned his whole body to face Swansea, who returned the gesture.
"There's a great change approaching humanity," Hawkes prefaced, his face wrought with grim and grit. "We may yet see utopias pop up all over the galaxy, as our ancestors intended and strived for. It's only a matter of time and action."
Swansea could barely describe the bond he felt to this giant of a man; it had been mercurial at first, but in a single day he'd gone from a feared captor to a trusted acquaintance. The primary reason behind that lied with the Captain himself; he practically gushed affection and friendliness towards him and the other Tulpar crew, as if he'd known them his whole life. It was hard to hold skepticism against someone who was so honest, brash, open, generous and reliable. Albeit a bit unsettling, but it was still far more preferable to all the other fucked up emotions roiling inside him.
"I had a few questions, Hawkes." He changed the conversation. "A lot, actually. Your homeworld, how Curly looks brand new, what's happened across the galaxy since we... yeah. A lot of questions."
Hawkes stopped pelting the overturned table Daisuke was hiding behind to look at Swansea with an indifferent expression.
"Fire away." He replied.
(Music: "Hell's Comin' With Me", by Poor Man's Poison)
Hawkes sat at the bar of his suite alone, swirling a glass of straight vodka in his hand. He stared at the swirling contents, pondering on the conversation he'd just had with Swansea and Daisuke, both of whom were fast asleep on the various lounge furniture.
Both of them had asked more than a wealth of questions; about Canaris, about resurrection, the events of the last year, the state of their families- too many to recount in his head right now.
"You want us to start cleaning up, Captain?" Roble, the ever-reliable bartender, asked him, despite the fact that all the others had left to bed. Hawkes shook his head, downing the last of his vodka and placing it on the counter, tapping for a refill. Roble obliged.
"Not tonight. I want to wake up and be comforted by the sight of this messy place. I want to remember all the shit we did when I clean up."
Roble smiled, dutifully cleaning out a shot glass in his hands with a white rag.
"I'm sure this is probably the best day of their life. They got to see their crewmates again, got to party and drink- I dunno what those other two were doing, but it seemed like Swansea and Daisuke had a shitton of fun."
Hawkes nodded, satisfied with the day's work. There was a mound of stress he'd felt the entire time of causing or allowing some fuck-up to occur, but it went as smoothly as he planned-
"Still, I can't believe how much trauma they were carrying. I really can't conceive how one bastard can cause all of that."
JJJJJJJJJJJJIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
"FUCK THIS!" Hawkes bellowed from the bottom of his lungs, gulping the entire glass and hurling it with monstrous might at the bulletproof window overlooking the terrarium.
CRACK-SMASH!
Roble was filled with a subtle horror as the rocketing glass slammed into the window, turning into particles and tiny shards of glass,leaving a sizeable crack in the thick-paned window.
This brute can makeshift bullets?! He thought in utter fear and yielding terror, only finding more reason not to renew his contract for the upcoming expiration.
I-AM-GONNA-HURT-HIM, Hawkes raged in his mind. I-M F-U-C-K-I-N-G D-O-N-E W-A-I-T-I-N-G.
He reached over the counter and snatched Roble's baton from his belt, with zero resistance from the officer in question. Hawkes then stormed away, grabbing the overturned table in front of him and dashing it to pieces across the room, kicking the hallway door completely off its hinges.
He could barely see his surroundings over the blood-red visage that tainted his vision. What unspeakable fire and fury.What great inordinate malice overtook his mind.
He thumbed his radio, nearly breaking the knob.
"Jazz here, is that you Captain-"
"GET THAT SCUMFUCK REVIVED AND DRAG HIS SORRY ASS TO INTERROGATION."
"Y-YES, SIR!"
Click.
His storming presence through the corridors was frightening to the unfortunate passerby who had to dodge around him or risk getting bashed aside. He was simply unable to contain the ineffablerage pouring from every pore in his skin. He needed to act. NOW.
Anger. WRATH. FURY! RAAAAAAAAAAGE!
CRACK! CRACK-CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Hawkes wailed the robust baton against the interior walls and ceiling, creating sizeable dents and cracks on every surface within his vicinity, terrifying onlookers and soldiers alike as he made a beeline for the Interrogation Room.
"HE'S FUCKED. HE'S SO FUCKED!" Hawkes' mind repeated in a perpetual, murder-spiraling frenzy. "HE'S GONNA SUFFER LIKE JUDAS. HELL WILL BE HIS EXISTENCE. DEATH WILL BE HIS MERCY! PAIN WILL BE HIS COMPANY!"
"Captain Hawkes-"
"WHAAAAT?!"
His shoulder radio temporarily went quiet as the receiver recoiled from the monstrous reply, then spoke again.
"C-Captain Hawkes, it's Wally. I have something to show you, it was from the ship, but you s-seemed so busy I wasn't sure when to-"
"Head to interrogation, Wally. Let me see it there."
