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Thread: The White Phoenix

  1. #41
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    The bit of cracker that he still held, halfway to his mouth, seemed to lower by a fraction.

    Locked in a stare with the Besalisk, Samus couldn't help the beginnings of a deepset frown. His eyes searched for any note of wavering sanity, but there was none in the serious visage of Phrexus' features.

    The cracker was laid to rest on the table.

    Kasara Sykes had died during the Malastare offensive.

    Fifteen or so years ago.

  2. #42
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    There was still a sheen of sauce left behind in Rai's carton, but she'd suffered enough. She pushed the container away towards the middle of the table as she observed the interplay between Samus and the besalisk. There was something being left unsaid here, but she couldn't make sense of what that might be.

    "Ssjykess jissn't the onljy one herre who valuess thejirr prrjivacjy. Wherre arre mjy quarrterrss?"

  3. #43
    For another moment longer he held Samus' gaze, his own eyes hard and unwavering. A moment later he pushed away from the table, lumbering up to his feet.

    "Yes."

    He waved away the remnants of lunch, the motion shifting into a gesture for the two to follow him as his long strides took him across the rec room, to the doors.

    "This way."

  4. #44
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    There was of course more that he wanted to say, but Phrexus had moved on, and Samus only let out a string of unintelligible grumblings as he too rose. Each small packet and pouch was stuffed unceremoniously into the main box, which was taken up without a second though. A refuse bin sat beside the counter, and he tossed the garbage inside before following the Besalisk.

    His previous light-hearted attitude had significantly soured, and taking up his ruck, the rangy blonde grabbed Raifa' as well, his mind clearly not on his actions.

    He let Phrexus lead the way out, across the open common area, and through the double doors on the far side. Another corridor stretched out in front of them. He knew well enough that each door down the way led into small bunk rooms, but it was up to their host which ones they would be staying in.

  5. #45
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    Rai's eyes cut sideways as Samus drew up alongside her.

    "jI can take that."

    Clearly something heavy was on the human's mind, otherwise he would never have shouldered her luggage like he was some Calanic catamite. It all pointed to the last bit of awkward conversation revolving around Sykes. The heiress placed her hand on the luggage strap, and withdrew it the moment she felt unexpected dampness and tackiness. She turned her hand over to find her fingers were wet with red.

    "Quentjin Ssamuss, jyou'rre bleedjing on mjy bag. Sstop. Gjive jit to me."

  6. #46
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    Her voice and its' distinctly perturbed tone pierced through the fog of his previous thoughts, and Samus blinked. He looked over and down, at her efforts to take back her ruck, and the slick covering of red blood that was now covering a portion of the strap.

    "Oh... "

    Another blink, as Phrexus ground to a halt, one meaty hand going out to turn the doorknob of the second door they'd come to.

    The blonde used the moment to let Raifa take back what was her.

    "Sorry."

    His hand now free, he gave it a shake, as if by doing so he'd rid himself of the red sheen smeared over his wrist and fingers.

    "One of you in here," Phrexus gave a passing gesture to the now-open doorway, then turned to send another hand out, pointing to the door across the hall.

    "... the other in there."

  7. #47
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    "Arr'u fjirrsst." Rai deferred in a sliver of courtly etiquette, gesturing from Samus to the first door. She took no further notice of the stained condition of her ruck, instead pointedly making eye contact with the human in another attempt to glean some meaning in his unease.

    When none could be found, the heiress took two steps back toward Phrexus, then followed his second gesture to the door across the hall. She paused, looking back at Samus again, before keying her door open and passing through the threshold.

  8. #48
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    He'd not even really acknowledged her sudden propensity for niceness. She'd demanded he take the first room presented, and he had. Did it really matter? Perhaps? In the back of his mind there was a small voice that said her deference was uncharacteristic, yet the very much larger voice that drowned it out was screaming at him. That he had misjudged the old Besalisk; had made a grave tactical error in judgement.

    That larger voice was now pounding in his head like a hammer, telling him that he'd made the biggest mistake of his life. He'd brought himself and T'yeellaa's sister to the home of an old soldier driven mad by years in battle.

    Dropping his ruck, Samus scowled deeply, moving to the lockers and opening the second one up. It had a full set of cold-weather gear; boots, pants, and a jacket. A sowmask hung from the top, waiting to be pulled off its' hook and slapped onto the face of the dumbest 'cruit duped into the old 'rakku hunt' prank.

    He closed it back up, then turned to Phrexus, a hard glint in his eye.

  9. #49
    The Girl had gone into the opposite room, and Phrexus took a step inside, closer to Samus. He continued on, bulling past the blonde with a rough shoulder.

    "Ain't dumb," Samus," he growled low so that none but the two in the room could hear.

    "I know when Sykes went. I know she took a bolt through her neck, and that she was dead before she hit the ground."

    The Besalisk still felt responsible for the loss of his friends' life, and the pain was an underscore to the sidelong look he now sent the lanky blonde Myomarian.

    "Got me a Jakobeast. Keep her upstairs, named her Sykes."

    He halfway sat on the sturdy metal desk that was on the sidewall, one pair of arms rising to cross over his chest. His chin lifted, exposing the top of a scar that - while old - was no less terrible looking than the few days after he'd gotten it.

    "Still got my sanity, if that's what you're concerned over."

  10. #50
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    A still-cautious look was sent to Phrexus, and Samus picked his ruck back up, only to shift it over to fall onto the available bunk. It was a thin mattress, made up with clean sheets and two woolen blankets with another two folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The pillow sat atop those, and with a grunt that signaled he had heard the words spoken, he roughly undid the wide leather straps before pulling on the zipper.

    "Those things aren't exactly ideal pets, you lunatic."

    The old commando only gave a shrug that spoke volumes about how much he cared for Samus' assessment, and to his credit the blonde reigned himself in enough to not start throwing punches. Phrexus Krale had a well-earned reputation for breaking arms, bloodying noses, and just generally turning those who picked fights with him into sad sacks of sobbing messes.

    Instead, he settled for falling back to old habits and half-growled words.

    "You got the whiskey in the usual places?"

  11. #51
    He knew what Samus was thinking, and what made him stop from lifting a hand. It was enough to make him grin, lips pulling back to expose his teeth.

    At the question, Phrexus let a hand drop, his waist bending slightly as he tapped the bottom drawer of the desk. It slid open at his touch to reveal four bottles of the cheapest, bottom-shelf whiskey - two bottles of Old Ithorian, and two bottles of Fighting Mynock.

    "I keep the good stuff locked up, so you can put to bed any notions of stealing my Palpy Van Wrinkle."

    A long breath was let out then, and he pushed away from the desk.

    "Get settled. If you need me," he started for the door, heavy footfalls signalling his departure.

    "... I'll be in the bay working on my tank."

  12. #52
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    A few minutes after Phrexus left, a soft knock sounded on Samus's door. Rai leaned halfway against the frame, waiting for the human to respond.

  13. #53
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    Sat at the desk, Samus had liberated one of the bottles of Old Ithorian. He'd made it as far as unscrewing the cap and taking a single, first pull when the knock sounded. He swallowed, feeling the angry fire that blazed an unforgiving trail down his throat.

    "It's open," he coughed slightly, setting the bottle back down while leaning back in the simple wood and metal chair.

    Everything here was as it had been all those years ago, and he couldn't help the blanket of nostalgia that he now wrapped himself comfortably in. All he needed now was an old pack of unfiltered Rebel Strikes and a lingering bout of snow-cough.

  14. #54
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    Rai entered the room holding a small medical kit. She turned it over in her hands, as if considering what to do, before tossing it to Samus.

    "Herre."

  15. #55
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    One hand let go of the bottle's neck to rise up, fingers closing around the small medkit she tossed to him.

    It was brought down into his lap with little fanfare, and he looked at it momentarily before his hand abandoned it in favor of the bottle.

    A grunted 'thanks' was her only answer, and he took another swig. Wiping his mouth with a swipe of his sleeve, he finally angled his eyes to look at her.

    There was a sigh, and he once more focused on her 'gift', shifting it up and onto the desk. A nimble flick unlocked the hasp, and the hardcase flipped open to reveal the standard fare; a handful of individual kolto packets, some gauze, individually packaged alcohol pads, a small bottle of disinfectant, adhesive patches, a small sewing kit for stitches, a small plastic baggie full of cotton balls and cotton swabs, extra dressings, eye wash, and plastic gloves. It was all standard.

    "A surprising show of thoughtfulness," he acknowledged as he began to dig into the case's contents.

  16. #56
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    "jI don't want jit gettjing jinfected." She explained herself plainly, ears pushing down to a neutral angle. Her weight rocked from heels to toes before her tail switched.

    "jIt'ss about ssurrvjival, rrjight?"

  17. #57
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    "That it is."

    His grumbled words were pushed out as he pulled out a few slim packets of kolto, some alcohol rub, and a thin gauze pad.

    He gave a nod to the opened bottle.

    "Drink's on me, if you want it. It isn't the best; hell, it's about the worst thing I've ever had, but it will keep your belly warm."

    His attentions returned to the task at hand then, and tearing open the small alcohol pad packaging, pulled the wisp of rubbing wipe out. A half-second later and he was scrubbing at the red mess that made up his hand.

  18. #58
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    She deferred with a wave of her hand.

    "No thank you."

    There wasn't a point to be proved here. She was hardly a temperate person, but she was ruthless enough to know when sobriety benefited her.

    "Arre jyou gojing to tell me what'ss gojing on?"

    Simple and direct. Spoken without force or implication. Again, Rai'faani projected little emotion to spice her words.

  19. #59
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    Wiping away the blood, Samus moved on to the kolto, and he twisted open one of the thin packets with ease before squeezing out a small bit onto his wrist.

    "Right now? Not much."

    He frowned at the sensation that cream was causing as it mingled into the small puncture spots. It wasn't enough to make him grumble, but rather more of an annoying sting that sent bursts of quick pain through his nerves.

    "I don't really recommend going exploring upstairs though. Seems our host has taken it upon himself to adopt a jakobeast."

    The packet was dropped to the desk.

    "Named it after a dead friend."

  20. #60
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    Rai had no idea what a jakobeast was, but the way Samus framed it, it didn't sound friendly. But that was secondary. Her nostrils flared slightly in the half-admission.

    "Sso that explajinss Ssjykess."

    What it didn't explain was that something here had caught Samus by surprise.

    "Ourr hosst jiss a pssychopath. That wassn't parrt of jyourr plan, wass jit?"

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