The space station, despite the cold monotony of the surroundings the general drudgery of work, was a place of reunions just the same and Caspira had little trouble spotting Grim in the crowd as the shuttle she’d arrived on let loose a flow of humanity that were quick to disperse to other locations. Head and shoulders above the bulk of people waiting, he was a hell of a sight even discounting the skull tattoo that cast his face into odd angles of shadow and light.
The moment he spied her his eyes lit up, teeth bright in the sudden smile that transformed him from intimidating hulk into something more. His smile was contagious and she found herself returning it immediately as he closed the last few steps between them and enveloped her in a hug that dragged her feet off the ground.
"Ain’t been waitin’ long but you a sight fer sore eyes."
"Work been good?" He knew what she did, of course. They’d met over conversation of mercenary work and danger and, much to her surprise, had been quick to lay out his boundaries. He’d rapidly become a curiosity, more so when she learned about his odd ‘family’. He’d somehow stuck by her though, drawn her closer to his way of thinking simply by his calm presence and patience; solid like the large man.
"That’s what I wanted to talk to you about." Brow furrowing, Caspira stepped around to look out the window and smiled as he settled in behind her, wrapping large arms about her and setting his chin playfully atop her head.
"Reckon that’d be some a’it. Ya go on then."
Where to start. “I’m retiring,” she began, stopping as she felt him tense. “Actual retirement. They’re going to let me go.” It was a rarity in her line of work but it did happen on occasion. “I won’t be able to come back but I think I can live with that.”
"What ya sayin’ then is…"
Watching their reflection in the window and the stars that stretched out forever, she nodded slowly. “If you’ll have me, I want to… go with you this time.”
At her back, Grim’s laugh was almost overjoyed, arms tightening about her as he hoisted her off her feet. “Ya kiddin’ me, Cas? Always wanted ya t’come.”
"I know, I was just…" Feet contacting the ground again, she tucked in closer to him; more at ease than ever with her decision at the solid presence he made behind her. "Worried."
"Ya ain’t gotta worry. Ya never got t’worry, Lyr wants ya t’come jus’ as much as I do."
"There’s something more, too. Big news." Arms already tucked up to grasp his forearms, she hooked fingers around his wrists and settled them low below her ribs, his gauntlets and broad hands a firm pressure settled against her lower abdomen. "Calte, you’re going to be a Father."
Karcen had just gotten settled in with the rifle. He was getting big enough that it almost-fit comfortably in the curve of his arms and the butt against his shoulder was solid as he lay prone on the ground of the small bluff, tucked down behind a screen of greenery and laying still; like in the holovids. That was when the broad shadow fell across him and almost-still became absolutely motionless.
Busted.
Only his head turned, angling around to peer upward over a shoulder and fix guilty blue eyes on Grim. The big Mando had a look on his face. The Alyrian Look, as Karcen had started to refer to it in his own head. It was a look he got when he said something or did something or asked something and Alyrian – or Grim, or Jenk – didn't quite seem to know how to respond or react. A combination of wariness and worry brought on by things that seemed, at least to him, to be fairly normal and usually not connected to one another.
So there was Grim, lips pursed and The Alyrian Look on his skull-inked face rather than the disappointment or even anger that Karcen half expected to see. The temptation of the rifle and Grim's temporary absence to go and check out the area had been too great to resist despite knowing much much better. The silence and The Alyrian Look lasted long enough that his muscles ached and the rifle felt heavy in arms that were beginning to tremble from strain.
“Huh.” Grim finally broke the silence, sucked on his teeth for a moment before he eased his bulk down into a smooth and effortless looking crouch. “You ain't gonna hit nothing, you hold it like that.”
“I'm sorry, Grim,” Karcen apologized in a whoosh of breath and earned a passive shrug in response. Climbing to his knees, he was in the process of handing the rifle back when Grim shook his head and planted a hand on Karcen's shoulder.
“You set on learnin' to shoot. Gon' teach teach you to shoot right is what we're gon' do.” Grim stretched himself out next to the boy with a low noise, not as young as he used to be and reminded of it at odd times. Taking the rifle, he held it between them and taught the boy the mechanics, the technical aspects of the rifle. Then settled it back in his arms and taught him how to steady himself and the rifle, how to breath, how to see. It was like another kind of meditation and Karcen took to it quickly.
And after a lengthy and impromptu training session, when Grim pointed out am upright log down the bluff, Karcen managed to clip it on the first try. Not a good shot, but still something.
“You got a good eye on you,” Grim observed carefully with a tone that was confusingly steady and neutral. With The Alyrian Look. “That'll do for today.” They stood and Karcen handed the rifle back, proud but uncertain just the same.
He scuffed a boot against rocky dirt, stilled himself into something trying to appear adult and looked back up at Grim with a pleased smile curling his lips. “Thanks, Grim.”
“Sure kid,” Grim reached over, mussed his hair with a careless ruffle. “You jus' be sure you use what I teach you right.”
"Call 'em back. Y'gon feel worse if you don't."
"He could wind up dead if she meets him again."
"Yep. Reckon he could."
"Personally, I tend to find pushing people off rooftops makes me feel rather good at the end of a bad day."
"Ain't nobody can tell you what t'do now, but 'ay. Call ya boy back. Y'ain't git that out ya chest, it's just gone chew you up."
Cas' night in a nutshell. The quotes are actually pulled from the log, so all that I could think of that night during that RP was Grim as the Shoulder-Angel and Laz'ab as the Shoulder-Devil.
Her first impression of him had been one of quick intimidation; easily pushed aside. Even leaning against the well lit grunge of the spacedock cantina's bar, he had towered head, shoulders and more over her, so it was an understandable impulse. And yet it hadn't been a difficult thing to peer past the intimidating tattoos and chipped smile to discover that he was more of a protector than a destroyer, and that had been enough for casual interest to take root. Bit by bit over repeated brushes, she learned more about him. A fighter, a protector, a spacer with a striking use of dialect and an almost infectious smile and a laugh that whistled through throat and teeth. More than that she unearthed what seemed to be an unwavering loyalty to his allies and friends.
She'd always wanted that kind of loyalty; that strength of character at her back no matter the thick and thin that might come. That the loyalty belonged, surprisingly, to a Jedi sent a chill of irritation and that's hardly fair singing through her; fleeting and quickly suppressed. It didn't matter.
That kind of loyalty was worth trying to earn.
Perhaps that was why she found herself going above and beyond what she would usually consider 'a job for a friend'. There were few enough of those in her life that those instances were rare, but this was... something else. Pushing the boundaries was a constant theme in her life but this... this had become more, become less, become something that she had started to pay for in blood, bone, suffering and all the while keeping the currency to herself. From what she could tell, he always repaid his debts and this wasn't one she was going to share.
If loyalty was worth fighting for, she would confidently walk the battlefield her life was rapidly becoming. Face pitfalls and peril for what? For a mercenary that cast her in shadow and the Jedi that walked at his side.
–
Calte Ysbrand. “Grim.”
Human, Male. (Possible cross-breed)
Mercenary; Mandalorian Affiliation.
Current Free Mercenary; no boundaries.
Non-Aggressive despite (or because of) physical size. Open and friendly in a manner that remains genuine rather than feigned, open to taking hired jobs within a set parameter of personal rules and boundaries. Understated sense of humor. Trusts rather quickly, though have yet to see if it applies case by case or in a whole. Relies on friends, unshakable loyalty to same. Seems inclined to take any sort of owed debt very seriously. Romantically involved; Mandalorian. Details unknown.
Placed at: Nar Shaddaa, Vaikan Spacedock
He'd walked away that evening and left something sharp and splintered in the forefront of her mind, initially passed over as she watched the neon lights of Nar Shaddaa pick him out in bold swipes of color across broad shoulders and the matte gleam of armor, the Jedi at his side a tiny slip of a ghost in white as the crowd swallowed them whole. Not for the first time, she wondered at her choice of actions and drowned that out as well, pressing her back against the wall with increasing pressure until all she felt was unforgiving durasteel dig into shoulderblades and spine.
Something in her was warning her of the long fall she was toeing up to.
Not very often did she call her own loyalty into question, but this shouldn't have been a grey issue. Humanity had become involved, grinding black and white into a blurred line that bled over the compass that guided her as an Agent. Her usual objectivity was something she very nearly mourned the loss of.
Sleep refused to come easy that night. Bright lights burning in the bay and down the walkway of her ship, she lay still and stared down the piercing glare of the overheads to see how long she could go before she blinked. Past the seared bright of the lights imprinted upon the backs of her eyelids was something that kept escaping her.
What did he mean? That word...
Exhaling, she let her eyes close and pulled the image into her mind's eye; hazy with neon and smoke and memory. Double set of teeth; dark-and-light inked lips shaping over chipped teeth into something she thought at the moment was a simple goodbye. Nothing about this was simple. She let the moment replay, her own lips shaping the words, the roll of the tongue and scrape of teeth summoned from memory and mimicked to the closest degree she could manage.
"Vor'entye."
Reaching blindly for the bedside stand, she caught her datapad in one hand and pulled it close, repeating the word in a careful exhale as she held tight to the too-bright memory.
Helping a Jedi. It rubbed her the wrong way, discomfort crawling up her spine in a way that made her squirm slightly atop tangled sheets and bunched pillows. But she had stopped being 'just a Jedi' somewhere along the line. The option to walk away was still viable. It wasn't her problem and she'd done more than enough by passing along a warning.
The datapad pinged and she stared hard at the lights once more before angling her head to rake bloodshot eyes over the translation. She may as well be honest with herself. Walking away had never been part of the plan.
Before I started on tonight's unofficial nsfw challenge, there were two things I wanted to do. 1. Play with some lineless art and mess with new brushes (kinda achieved?) and 2. draw a pic of spookthespy's Grim. That skull face is awesome, and the player has made him a character I love running into.
