Private Quarters....
Somewhere on board the Opulence....
"Okay, so I just... how much of this do I p- wait. What is this, even?" The Vulture groaned to himself in his room, left alone naked and afraid- of course, he wasn't actually naked but he certainly felt like it- to fend for himself. To any other strapped lad of his years, such a thing would likely be bliss, quality alone time. In private quarters.... connected to the HoloNet.... well such things would perhaps have kept his attention had he physical sight to actually enjoy the dastardly offerings of the web, but since he did not, he opted to run himself headfirst into quite the same predicament.
The Vulture, the Deadspeaker. The King of the Departed. The Ferryman. The Bridge. The Lord of Naught. The Warlord of Carlac. Supreme General of The Carlaci Corps. Mastermind of Doom Division. Dread Commander. A legendary rap sheet telling tale of his storied past and achievement without any doubt or room for question about his aptitude. So what was it this powerful sorcerer had set himself after this evening?
"This was literally the worst idea I've ever had." He muttered breathlessly to himself, tilting his head to press burned fingers to his forehead in knead- of course subjecting his flesh to the Darkside had scorched his hands long ago, giving the fresh burns little effect. "What's- oh shit-" Halketh fumbled after the handle of the pan placed on the countertop burner, hastily drawing it off the heat. He felt his brows twitching and temples throbbing with the almost insatiable urge to use The Force to aid him. At least then he could maybe see what it was he was doing. "Nuh-uh, you promised Cass you could handle things for one night without her. Don't even think about it." Grey blobs. It was all grey, barely formed blobs. Much like a potter had started a project for two minutes and promptly abandoned it.
He scoffed to himself, snorting in response. "That was a problem for past me. Now me says use The Force. Yeah..." he groaned, "But then she would never let me live it down." Kezec realized then that he still smelled smoke as he argued with himself. He yelped, haphazardly dropping the hot pan- and its noodly contents- into the sink and splashing it with cold water in a panic with the grand and absolutely glorious crash of dishes smashing into one another. He stood there in stunned silence for a moment, face falling expressionless in its angle down toward the sink. It took him a moment to question if he really had just completely ruined his dinner beyond salvage, or if he had only ruined it a little. "Oh it's ruined, absolutely. Yeah, there's no salvaging this one, Kez, great job."
He wasn't bitter, no, not at all.
Another whining groan cranked the burners off and he felt his way around the blurry, unfamiliar space cautiously. His toes had been broken enough for one day in his attempts to settle in, and as much as he could count his steps, the ship was apt to move about, causing the slightest shifts in the furniture and lay of things. Such a minor thing was absolutely devastating for the shins and toes of The Vulture, of course, truly his greatest weakness was busting his toes against a coffee table leg.
"Sol," He called after tip-toeing his way to the bar and slipping his aching feet into his boots. "Here, psh-psh~"
'Mrow~?' On his left.
"Heeeeey~" Halk drew his leather jacket off the back of the chair and turned it about, slipping arms into sleeves and dropping it on. A quarter turn and a squat dropped him down within range to reach out, coursing his ringed fingers along the soft grey blob's spine. He snickered with some mild affection, "buddy, you wanna come with me to find something to eat? Y'know, before I burn the whole ship down."
Naturally, the grey, cat-eared blob had no response.
"C'mon. Let's go for a walk. Surely we can figure out where the DFAC is on this thing." A stroke of confidence, sure.
The Vulture curled his hands around the cat, hoisting him up gently as he straightened his own posture. Once that much had been accomplished, he lifted Sol further, allowing the companion to climb up onto his shoulder and rest over it comfortably. When the bite of claws ceased popping his worn leather jacket, Halk made his way back for the door, counting steps as he went to ensure he didn't just stupidly slam right into it.
"Let's see.... it was right out of here... then twenty strides down the hall, one across to the left, and that's the elevator--" He trailed, scratching his head as he poked it out of his open door curiously. Once more, the corridor was a blurred, unspecific, disorienting mosh of greys and whites in stretches that seemed to completely null The Force passively extended by the miraluka. "Why in the-" he cursed with exhaustion, stepping out into the hallway and closing his door behind him. Rather than produce the access card he totally had not misplaced already, he flexed both hands, sealing the door with a swirling sigil of energy. Was it overkill?
Probably.
But he definitely did not need anyone seeing the absolute hell of a mess he had made in his private kitchen. There was no way he could allow such a thing.
He strolled off, setting about the numbers in his mind that he could recall, striding with his chin up like he didn't smell of smoke and complete failure.
Noel Strasza
