Damage Control
[Closed RP]
She wasn't Plain Dealer. She was better. So why wasn't he happy with the new ship?
Feron pushed himself out from under the dash board console, and bumped his head sitting up. He swore and placed a hand over his forehead, one eye squinted. The orange stand-by light on his omni-tool winked at him and he woke it from sleep to checked the read-out again.
“I don't get it...” He scrolled through the code and scowled. The console was glitching and what seemed like a small software issue turned into a hardware hell of a nightmare. With a sigh he rocked his head back and dropped his arms. He had been at it for almost three hours now, and with little progress. This ship wasn't new, but she wasn't junk. If needed he could find the parts, but it would put him back, and he wasn't about to bring it up with Liara. She was the one who found him the new ship after...
His hand touched his side in reflex. The scar under his clothes was raised after not healing properly.
The white lights in his cabin turned red, and his control panel lit up when it registered the oxygen levels were reaching dangerous levels.
“No! What? No! No! No!” He pressed buttons, pulled leavers, and fired up his omni-tool.
Standing up too fast caused him to sway and he almost fell back into his accelerator chair. Feron scanned the walls of his ship cabin with a panicked wave of his arm, but his omni-tool didn’t register any leaks or damage. He turned back to his ships’ dashboard console and watched the screens flicker and reboot. Something had hacked his system.
He reeled, and grabbed the controls to pull the nose of the ship up, it began to slow and level out but the steering was jamming. His oxygen levels were thinning rapidly, and with the steering sticking he couldn’t turn away from the planet, not in time. He caught the planets atmosphere and strapped in for a rough landing. With shaking fingers he flicked overhead switched and groaned. This crash was going to draw attention, if it didn’t kill him first.
Reliving the crash was a new favourite of his. The sound of metal ripping, digging into his side to pull out shrapnel from his ship, and watching his ship slip into its sandy grave. Feron flinched his way out of the memories, and stood to sit inside in the pilot chair. This new ship had two accelerator seats. He had laughed when Liara had pointed it out to him.
“And look, no cables laying around!” She had said, gesturing at the floor and smiling up at him. “What? It is a safety hazard, Feron.”
She had bought him the ship.
He leaned into the arm rest and pinched his lower lip. He was ignoring her calls. It pained him as much as it did her.
After he had gotten drunk and gotten too comfortable with her after a night at The Ivy, he needed to distance himself. She had halted his actions then, and he was still dealing with the embarrassment. Evrik got a good laugh out of it. Even tried to ease Feron's mind; but the drell wouldn't have it. Evrik hadn't heard what had been said. He'd only seen a sloppy drunk lizard locking lips with Liara, and her slapping him away. It wasn't the slap, or even what was said, that was bothering him. Feron smirked and pinched his lip harder.
His omni-tool rang, on cue. It was Liara. The party had been two days ago, and when she realized he wasn't going to pick up, she texted him an apology. He replied back with a casual, “It's fine :) rly”
She still kept calling, and he kept declining her calls.
What else was he supposed to say, “It's not you, it's me”? They weren't dating, not exactly, it was...complicated.
Lately his drinking was getting out of hand. It had reached a new peak with Liara that night, and it had scared him. No one had tried to stop him. No one had taken much notice. It was easy.
He wasn't sure what had brought it on, but he felt himself spiralling. It was a slow spin this time. Built up over years, instead of months. He was feeling stuck. Trapped.
Except he wasn't. He could go anywhere, do anything. He could leave if he wanted, go someplace quiet, and have a revelation, find himself, or some shit. The confusion and frustration only added to it. Why didn't he?
Liara was worried about him. What else was new?
At first Feron thought he was frustrated with Liara, but quickly realized that was ridiculous. This was all on him. She had reason to worry. He had been doing so well.
He had started taking less jobs, and soon stopped taking any at all. “A break,” Liara had said. So he started jogging, reading more, eating better. You know, all those healthy things one should do to better themselves and their life. He had tried.
But then...well, it had all started again with his ship crashing.
This break wasn't so much relaxing as it was mind numbing. He didn't know what to do with himself. He was good at information trading. It became more a way of life than a job.
I am, was, an information trader... He had said to Shepard, back when he had been rescued.
Feron had thought about stopping more than once before, but he always found himself back in the mess; one way or another. Really though, what else was he supposed to do? He chuckled, clicking through his contacts. Go back to dancing at The Ivy? Evrik would never let him leave again. No...he didn't want that, it was fun, but it didn't give him the sense of purpose he craved. His finger hesitated over a name. He let out a slow breath through his nose. Naya. He hadn’t spoken to her in a long while. She was busy, he was...”busy”. He hadn’t meant to drift away from her. Not after everything she had done for him. He wanted to call her, but he didn’t.
He stared at the orange console screen closest to him. The software he had installed attempted to correct the issue. It reached the glitch and looped.
He wanted to fix it... He would fix this.
Feron worked for another hour, and just when he thought he was getting someplace...
He went to install the metal panel back in its place, pushing the cords he had pulled out back behind it. It wasn't clicking in like it had. He swore, and adjusted his position on the floor to get a better grip on it. It wasn't working. “Fucking...!” he gritted his teeth, “Come on!” With a shove he clicked it back into place and moved to stand up. He was in the process of replacing everything he had pulled off the console. Leaving various pieces and panels laying around. The console gapped and exposed. He used the edge of the console the stand up, and sliced open his palm. His cry was strangled in a gasp. The wound was deep, and bled down his arm. Feron made a fist to hold the wound closed, and cringed as he stepped over the disarray of parts to the med kit on the wall. It was empty. He hadn't thought to check it until now. With blood dripping from his elbow he looked around at the mess he had created.
“What? It is a safety hazard, Feron.” Liara was always right.
He sacrificed a clean undershirt to wrap his fist in, and shrugged on his coat. There was a pop up clinic not to far from where his ship was docked. He knew where to go. They'd probably see him and exclaim, “Welcome back!”
He locked up with a wave of his omni-tool and headed down the hall.
Feron walked up to the front counter and the asari behind it turned with an arched brow “Back so soon? Oh...uh! Nurse!”
He was bleeding on the floor.
It was a small med bay and the nurse took him into the back to stop the bleeding, then had him sit in the waiting room for supervision. Not much of a “waiting room” though. Bunch of chairs that were outside the belly of the building, half in the street. Feron held his hand. They had applied a generous amount of medi-gel and wrapped the wound. This supervision was a formality. Unnecessary, but he wasn't going to put up a fuss. Once they knew he wasn't going to pass out, he could leave. Unless they wanted to poke at him some more. He did have a reputation after all...He had been brought in once before after falling over a railing while drunk.
Feron sat back to scan the crowds. Some of omegas' finest walked through. He was careful to avoid contact with a few that shuffled past. He twisted his lips and looked out at the huge screen hanging over the main walkway. Political debates were ongoing. Some kind of election he hadn't been keeping up with. He was missing out. Good money to be made with politicians. Some turian was debating with an asari, something about apartment sizes. He lost interest, and let his focus drift back into the crowds to seek out familiar faces.