Post by Lars Engström on Feb 18, 2013 23:24:36 GMT -5
[[Hera - January 14th, 2527. Washburne, above Serenity Valley. 1245]]
Lars sat at the bar, and looked sadly into the glass he held. The dregs of the whiskey swirled absently in the bottom, as he slowly rotated it in his hand. It was his 25th birthday today, and what a way to celebrate. Alone, forgotten, abandoned. Yes, his life truly had fallen apart.
It had started right after the mess four years back, where they had lost Jordan, and Trace. He grabbed a new crew, but things just weren't the same. They had wandered on for a time, but everything just drifted apart. The captain had watched, helplessly, as one by one, the crew left. Lance stayed on for a while, but eventually, they both had to admit it was over. Lars had left his first mate with his family, and then set a course for who knew where. He flew until the ship just couldn't, and here he was. Hera. The place where so much history lived. Where his father had died, it was a fitting resting place.
His ship, still in mostly working order, was docked, perhaps permanently. An old contact, from years back, had a small shipyard. He had been in the freight business, but it had collapsed. So he let Lars keep the Star there, "No reason to let the space go to waste." He had said, when Lars asked.
He had spent days searching for work, just enough to get by.But no one was hiring. He had turned to the alliance, certain they would be there, but even the government gave him the finger. "We are sorry," they had said, "But we do not require a man of your skills."
He felt betrayed. His father had died for them, he had spent his whole life standing against the accusations, a patriot. And they spat on him, like he was an ant on the ground. So here he was, on Hera, with nothing but fear, anger, and the growing conviction that changes had to be made.
He ran a hand across his chin, the beard that had grown felt strange. He still wasn't used to it. Too many years of being clean shaven. A movement caught his eye, another man at the bar. He looked familiar. Lars wracked his mind for the name. Then it came. The captain of the ship that had saved them, Davis. Lars cleared his throat, and then spoke. "You're Davis.... right?"
Lars sat at the bar, and looked sadly into the glass he held. The dregs of the whiskey swirled absently in the bottom, as he slowly rotated it in his hand. It was his 25th birthday today, and what a way to celebrate. Alone, forgotten, abandoned. Yes, his life truly had fallen apart.
It had started right after the mess four years back, where they had lost Jordan, and Trace. He grabbed a new crew, but things just weren't the same. They had wandered on for a time, but everything just drifted apart. The captain had watched, helplessly, as one by one, the crew left. Lance stayed on for a while, but eventually, they both had to admit it was over. Lars had left his first mate with his family, and then set a course for who knew where. He flew until the ship just couldn't, and here he was. Hera. The place where so much history lived. Where his father had died, it was a fitting resting place.
His ship, still in mostly working order, was docked, perhaps permanently. An old contact, from years back, had a small shipyard. He had been in the freight business, but it had collapsed. So he let Lars keep the Star there, "No reason to let the space go to waste." He had said, when Lars asked.
He had spent days searching for work, just enough to get by.But no one was hiring. He had turned to the alliance, certain they would be there, but even the government gave him the finger. "We are sorry," they had said, "But we do not require a man of your skills."
He felt betrayed. His father had died for them, he had spent his whole life standing against the accusations, a patriot. And they spat on him, like he was an ant on the ground. So here he was, on Hera, with nothing but fear, anger, and the growing conviction that changes had to be made.
He ran a hand across his chin, the beard that had grown felt strange. He still wasn't used to it. Too many years of being clean shaven. A movement caught his eye, another man at the bar. He looked familiar. Lars wracked his mind for the name. Then it came. The captain of the ship that had saved them, Davis. Lars cleared his throat, and then spoke. "You're Davis.... right?"
