If I Only Had A Heart

[Jonathon Patches]

It was quiet... too quiet.

Having just returned from a trip out on Coruscant with a large box nestled under his one arm, a few bags being clutched by his other hand, Patches half expected to find the ship in complete disarray. There was no Tris singing in the halls, no Deagan doing... well, whatever it was Deagan does. A brief peek in the galley showed a pile of dishes stacked high, a solemn reminder that Tahira was not amongst them. Patches didn't feel a glare or judging eyes on him, so Ti'Cira was clearly in hiding as well.

True, the Knight's Helm was no party ship nor a luxary liner... but Patches could always count on one of his crew doing something they shouldn't.

"Deagan?" he yelled down the halls, expecting no response as he no doubt had already found some trouble to get into off ship.

"Tris?" he asked a bit quieter, enjoying the temporary silence, and not wanting to disturb it.

"Ti'Cira?" he asked even more quietly, not certain if he wanted a response.

 

[TiCira D'Arr Hawk]

Have the crew of the Helm do something they shouldn't?

No way! That would never happen! After all, it wasn't like when the Kathound was away that the Nexu would play?

Hehe, or was it?

As it was right now, there was neither hide nor hair of Deagan, Tris, or Ti'Cira. Where could they be? Usually by now Tris would be bounding up talking twelve klicks a minute, with the wry joke of one particular full blooded Zeltron not too far behind.

The rather judgmental witch would not disappoint and give a scolding; whether it was due to the stench of perfume, the smudge of lipstick on Patches' collar, or his several week long absence 'gathering information' for the client.

Yup, right now, it seemed that Patches was missing three components to the Helm.

Granted, this could mean that the refresher was free to claim -- regardless of what one red-headed witch might say.

 

[Jonathon Patches]

[member="TiCira D'Arr Hawk"]

The lack of response told him all he needed to know. He was alone. Not even a note?!?!?! he mused himself.

He peered his head down each hallway, each equally quiet and silent. For sithspit's sake! He let out a sigh, knowing they had gone off and done their own thing. A quick glance at his holo watch told him if he had the ship to himself... might as well make the most of it.

So he headed to his cabin, dropped off the shopping bags, and began stripping for what was no doubt going to be a nice, hot, refreshing shower.

 

[TiCira D'Arr Hawk]

[member="Jonathon Patches"]

Ohhh, but see, Mister Jonathon Patches was not alone.

One particular witch was within the belly of the Helm, headphones covering her ears, sitting in the middle of several holoscreens and computer terminals. Yes, she was in the database control room.

Patches' database control room.

That would be why she had been seemingly quiet, in the throes of playing Andora and listening to music, running through various files for research. At the corner of her eye, however, she would catch movement in one of the security camera.

One Jonathon Patches enroute to the refresher!

A pause, then a second thought. The corners of her mouth twisted into a devilish smirk. Leaning back on her seat, Tici merely enjoyed the show.

 

[Jonathon Patches]

[member="TiCira D'Arr Hawk"]

Steam filled the glass walls, as hot water cascaded off Patches, a loud sigh echoing through the refresher as he savoured the moment. A long day and a rare moment where Patches was alone - or so he believed - afforded him this unique opportunity, and he was going to enjoy every long, lingering moment of it.

Publicly he chided his crew, complained about lack of privacy, boundaries, and the rare instances of insubordination. However, on the inside, he was more than willing to put up with their antics; though good luck trying to get him to admit so. Still, these rare moments of piece and quiet were a welcome change of pace, if for no other reason than that the only singing onboard would be that of his own, and he wouldn't be competing with Triss.

Satisfied with his shower, and quite certain that the entire refresher was now covered in a thick blanket of steam, he exited the shower, towelled himself off quickly, then proceeded to wrap said towel around his waist.

One right hand swiped at the mirror a couple of times, providing a brief portal into a mirror that reflected that familiar face back, as his right hand drew lines against the stubble on his face.

Then, the unthinkable happened. The shaking of a can, the application of some cream left Patches with a white beard; albeit, one that wouldn't survive the elements. His right hand went to grasp a tool that he had a love hate relationship with, as what soon followed could simply be described as a razor meeting skin. With one fell swoop, a strip of cream and scruff was removed, soon followed by another, then another.

That's right... They could call him nerf-herder, but this one wasn't going to be scruffy.