Futuristic The Black Divide (Paused)

[ArcticFox]

The station database puts Dylan's location in a warehouse in the docking bay. You follow the map, heading further and further away from the well-lit, well-used areas and towards dark, shadowed corridors and notices about the area being closed for renovations and repair; one of the main doors has been propped open to allow you to access a corridor that, by all rights, should be locked off entirely.

Why Dylan's here, you cannot tell, but as you get closer to his location on your map, you can hear a dull roar of a crowd, blaring electronic music, and a loud, metallic crash. You head through the doors.

In the very centre of the docking bay where a ship would normally touch down, sits a raised ring flooded with spotlights, bench seats sit on steps for an audience as large as a hundred, though there are less than half that sitting and chatting there now.

Behind the stage sits a tent with a luminescent red cross on its white roof, and next to the stands a pair of women grilling burgers over a rusted metal barrel.

High in the stands, sitting by himself in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, Dylan spots you and freezes up, his hands locked around his knees. He watches you approach with a wary grimace.

"I didn't realise you wanted to see me," Dylan says once you're close enough. "Is there something I… haven't done?"

An announcer booms: "Round three, folks: Red Reindeer versus Thunderdaze!"

Dylan winces, but even with you standing there he's keeping an eye on the fight.

- You think it's barbaric.
- You are interested in it.
- You wonder what sort of fighting it is.
- You wonder why Dylan likes it.

 

[Cartoonicat]

Upon entering the warehouse, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not supposed to be there and to step inside means trouble. It causes me to consistently look over my shoulder, wary of authority popping up behind me with cuffs and a search warrant—though I doubt they’d go that far for a mere trespasser. Then again, I wouldn’t know; I’m no troublemaker.

I look around, mostly for Dylan but also to take in my surroundings. It’s... not what I expected, but it’s not all bad. There’s camaraderie here by the looks of it and everyone is there willingly. Or, so I hope.

Dylan is by himself, though, and I feel a bit better about coming here. Had he been with others, I might have left.

“All’s good, you’re fine,” I take a seat next to him and peer at the ring in the center of the room. He seems a bit wary, so I try to act casual, like I’m supposed to be here. “So... what’d I miss?” I don’t quite get the appeal of watching people fight, but I’m not against learning more about it if it means getting to know one of my crew members... and clearing my head.

 

[ArcticFox]

You sit down next to Dylan and peer down at the stage, as a tall, broad woman and a leanly athletic man both enter the ring. It's mixed martial arts of some kind, and though there's technically a referee hanging off the metal chain-link fence around the stage, he's not enforcing any rules.

"Thunderdaze, she was on twenty-six and oh. Set out this challenge for the evening, if anyone can stop her from getting to thirty and oh, she'll name them champion instead, straight to the top."

There's a wincing groan from the crowd, who have settled in at about seventy, with more trickling in. Thunderdaze trips the challenger with one leg and gracefully jumps down to pin his arms behind his back.

"Well, by the end of this she'll be twenty-nine and oh. If someone manages to take her down, this place will go wild."

As he speaks, the challenger slaps his one free hand on the mat and a bell rings, the crowd jeers and quickly disperses. The commentator announces a ten minute delay until the next fight.

Next to you, Dylan worries at the seam of his sweatpants with trembling hands.

- Try to make him relax.
- Ask him what's going on.
- Ask him why he's here.
- Talk about the fight.

 

[Cartoonicat]

I watch the fight, finding myself more intrigued than when I first sat down but am completely unable to comprehend the spectators. Numbers and oh? I don’t get what they mean, but watch anyway. It doesn’t detract much from the fight; I can see who is winning and who isn’t.

When the break is called, I glance towards Dylan. “Hey, who—” The trembling of his hands is noticeable and I stop. “Dylan? Is everything okay?” I wonder, then, if he’s upset I imposed on his evening out.

 

[ArcticFox]

At the first sign of probing, Dylan clams up even further, physically withdrawing away from you and giving you a pained look that's miles away from a smile.

"I'm fine," he says. "I'm excited to be here. When I heard about it, well. I like the atmosphere."

"And now," the commentator announces, and you notice Dylan go tense all over again. "It's time for fight thirty of Thunderdaze's reign, and we have a new challenger! Never seen here before, we have…the Dylanator!"

Dylan shifts beside you. "I'd better get down there, so…"

- Answer.

 

[Cartoonicat]

“Wait, wha—Oh!” To say I’m surprised would be an understatement; I’m floored, nearly speechless. Dylan’s a ring fighter or... whatever they’re called, with their silly names? “But you—“ I trail off, unsure. He seemed so sweet, so innocent, almost helpless? I’m reminded then that I still know next to nothing about Dylan.

Well, I guess now’s a good time to find out. I offer him a smile and a thumbs up. “You’ve got this. Go get ’em.” I’m not entirely sure I believe my own words—I still can’t see him as a fighter, much less calling himself something like “The Dylanator”—but he looks like he could use the encouragement, and that’s what I’m here for.

 

[ArcticFox]

Dylan huffs a laugh, and stands up, stretching out his muscular arms. "I, I probably shouldn't win. I know I can, but we probably shouldn't have the attention on the Eleos. Do you think?"

- Answer.

 

[Cartoonicat]

I lift my brows. Had he always been so muscular, or was that a recent development? Then again, he is in charge of cargo; we hired him for his strength. I guess I just never noticed until now.

I look between Dylan and the ring, harboring what I think is the current champion. “...Nah. Go kick some butt.” There’s no point in laying low after my stint at DRT’s outpost today, so he might as well have fun while we’re here. Plus, I’m curious now at what he can do. I haven’t seen Dylan this confident before.

 

[ArcticFox]

Dylan gives you a flash of a bright smile, and nods, before bounding down the steps towards the fighting ring.

It's only a few minutes before the fight begins. When he enters the ring, Dylan has stripped off his t-shirt, his sweatpants, to reveal athletic shorts and not much else, he's strapped his hands and joints in protective, impact-absorbent film, and it's like looking at a different man: he moves with a leonine confidence, his shoulders rolling back as he shifts his weight on his feet. Thunderdaze takes a second look at him and clearly reassesses her opinion of him.

When they come together it's slow at first. They dance around each other, fists lightly tapping as they get a feel for each other's style and weight. It's Dylan who makes the first move, feinting to one side and hooking his foot around Thunderdaze's knee, sweeping her to one side and piling her down to the floor.

- Watch and cheer.
- Look a way.
- Place a bet.

 

[Cartoonicat]

I stare openly, baffled. The difference is stark; in the ring, Dylan isn’t the scared, slacking kid he is on the Eleos. I can’t help but wonder how much more productive he’d be if he had the fearless confidence he does now when out in space, though I know I can’t fault him for having a phobia. Nobody’s perfect.

Jeez, though, he could be. Dylan drops his opponent to the floor and I cheer. “Woo! Go Dylan!” I pause, adding, “—Ator! Dylanator! Dyl... okay, Z, that’s embarrassing.” I quickly sit back down.

 

[ArcticFox]

The fight comes in stops and starts: a long, tense moment while Thunderdaze has Dylan in a submission hold and he strikes her ear until she retreats; fast flurries of blows too quick to follow between feet, hands, elbows; wincingly hard throws to the mat; Dylan pins his opponent to the side of the cage and pulls her arm against her spine until she throws her head and strikes him in the nose: surely a foul in any above-board match, but here, the crowd screams with excitement at the blood.

It only seems to focus Dylan: even with blood down his chin and chest, he bursts into faster strikes and merciless holds until Thunderdaze slaps her hand against the floor and stays down when he rolls off her.

The crowd erupts with disbelief - boos and hisses, more than pleasure, really - though a couple of men at the bottom of the steps look very pleased with themselves, ripping up their marks' betting slips. Dylan staggers to the centre of the cage, where the shell-shocked referee celebrates the win.

It's a little longer before he comes back to you. He's gotten dressed again, and there's a strip of medical tape across the bridge of his nose. He smiles brightly at you, happy and excited and relaxed, and his eyes shine in the fluorescent lights.

"Well? What did you think?"

You realise, suddenly, that he was showing off for you.

- Answer.

 

[Cartoonicat]

The fight is brutal and I find myself wincing almost as much as the fighters themselves at every blow, but I'm one of the loudest audience members there. Or, I try to be. Dylan isn't known in this area and he's up against the probably local champion who has a stadium of support, so I have to cheer even if it's embarrassing. And, the more I cheer for him, the more I realize he was right: Dylan has a shot at winning this thing.

By the time Dylan returns a winner, my voice feels raw from so much screaming.

I smile. Happiness suits him, and I'm a little bit flattered he went the extra mile just to show me could. "It was... pretty freaking cool," I say, and I mean it. While I'm not big on violence, I am impressed by his skill. "I didn't know you could fight like that."

 

[ArcticFox]

His pale skin flushes brick red and he looks insufferably, self-consciously pleased with himself.

"This is such a bad idea," he says softly, but he sits down next to you anyway, his leg pressed against yours. "Really bad. But I really want to kiss you now."

- Answer.

 

[Cartoonicat]

My eyes blow wide. He wants to what? I glance between us, now suddenly aware of the close proximity. Aware of the bright red flush across Dylan's face. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. This wasn't what I intended, this wasn't what friends did. Though... we weren't really friends when I stepped inside the warehouse, and we weren't really friends when I cheered louder than the patrons sitting around me at every blow in the ring.

Subconsciously, I'd known what I was doing... I think.

"I, um... really bad..." I'm not sure how to turn him down, especially since I'm thinking of kissing him, now, too, even though he's my crew member and I'd like to think I came here with platonic intentions. Then it hits me: "You can't. I have coffee breath."

 

[ArcticFox]

Dylan shrugs, not swayed by the excuse. "I don't mind. I'm both sweaty and bloody."

- Reject him.
- Let him kiss you.

 

[Cartoonicat]

In hindsight, coffee breath is a horrible excuse. Anything else might have bought me more time to figure out what I'm actually doing here, but it's too late to come up with another excuse because if I do, it'll come across as more of an awkward refusal than if I rejected him outright. And I'm still not sure I want to do that.

"That's a good point, aha... um..." I bite my lip. It's a bad idea but life is short. "Okay."

 

[ArcticFox]

He's sweaty from the fight, and up close his nose looks pretty bad. He kisses you softly on the cheek and gives a full-body shiver as if that much is too much of you for him to handle.

The announcer yells about the next fight, and Dylan glances down at the crowd, rubbing at his sore nose. "Let's get out of here, shall we? I don't want to get mobbed by that lot down there."

Now the adrenaline is wearing off, Dylan looks like he's going to keel over, and it's getting late.

Tomorrow will be your second, and last, day on Martian Beta.

--

It's morning in the galley of the Eleos, and Oscar is falling asleep over his cereal while Roshan cheerfully throws nuggets of granola unerringly at his head. Shiori is slumped next to him, groaning at every loud noise, and Dylan is nowhere to be seen. Roshan mentioned off-handedly that he'd slipped out early to have breakfast on the station.

You've told your crew to look out for themselves, so after breakfast they'll scatter to the winds of the station and do their own thing for the day: for some of them, you imagine sleep might be on the agenda.

What about you, though? You're scheduled to shove off Beta this evening, so what will you do before then?

- See to the ship.
- Get some R&R.
- Find a gym or something.
- Take Victor out for lunch to question him.

 

[Cartoonicat]

Dylan's full of surprises and I find myself smiling. That wasn't what I expected, not at all, but the innocence is pleasantly refreshing and makes me feel more confident in my decision. Something so sweet couldn't be a bad idea.

"Yeah, good idea. Let's go." I offer him a helping hand when I rise. "You should probably get your nose checked, too," I suggest as we leave, keeping a careful eye on him to make sure he doesn't drop from exhaustion on the way back.

---

I'm exhausted—always am, in the mornings—but not tired enough to ignore the antics of my crew. Most look like they had a decent time during the trip, which I'm glad to see even if it leaves Shiori a groaning mess. Though Oscar probably spent a late night working, as usual, I'm hoping he'll get some sleep. That's a special kind of rest and relaxation. In fact, one of the best.

Once my coffee and own bowl of cereal are finished, I stand to put the plates away. "I'm going to see about taking Victor to lunch before we leave," I tell them off-handedly, not sure why except to possibly glean a few words of encouragement. And, the more I think about it, maybe advice. "Anything I should bring up in regards to the Thorn Chaser or... well, anything else?" I have my own questions to ask, a mental checklist full of notes from the experience, but it's always good to get feedback.

 

[ArcticFox]

"Maybe tell him not to be such a prick." Roshan offers helpfully.

"Not so loud." Shiori protests.

Eira rolls her eyes. "You should go see a doctor for that hangover, you know!"

You wait for the others to clear out of the galley, and as you thought would happen, Victor swans in to get something to eat after the crew are out of the way. When you broach the idea of getting lunch together, he pauses and looks at you with a furrowed brow and warm eyes: suspicious, but still pleased about the whole thing.

"Choose somewhere I'll like," he says cryptically and takes his coffee back down to his quarters.

So where will you take him for lunch?

- High end.
- Pretty fancy.
- Something calm and out of the way.
- Something cheep and cheerful.
- A dockyard diner.

 

[Cartoonicat]

"Some 'thank you' that is," I mutter once he leaves, half tempted to bring him to a dockyard diner for greasy burgers and salty fries. Doing so won't get me anywhere but on his bad list, though I wonder if I'm not on there already, considering how I've been nosing into DRT business. The thought gives me a mental pause; it is my business. I'm transporting their cargo, for goodness' sake.

Still, the answer to my problems isn't being petty.

I'm not interested in breaking the bank for lunch nor am I wanting to see if I still fit into my old designer clothes. Thankfully, while Victor likes expensive things, he also seems happiest with few people around. Or maybe that's just with my crew. Regardless, I opt to find us a place that's a bit on the calmer side and more out of the way.

 

[ArcticFox]

It might not be fancy, but it's cheap enough not to interfere with your budget.

When lunchtime rolls around, you head to the restaurant's neighbourhood: it's rustic enough that there are a couple of families of Beta residents, dads and their shrill, excitable children. There's a good smell in the air, though, it smells like the food will be good.

You reach the place before Victor, sit down, and wait for him to join you.

When Victor sees you, he glances pointedly around the restaurant. "This is… rustic," he says, a sneer in his voice, though he manages to keep his face polished and neutral.

He's obviously not happy.

- Offer an explanation.
- You don't care.

 

[Cartoonicat]

"I thought you liked your space," I say, feeling a little irritated by his tone. Still, I try to appear apologetic. "Was I wrong? I'll invite you to eat with the crew more often, in that case." It comes off pettier than I'd like and I nearly wince at the sharp lilt in my tone.

Play nice, Z.

 

[ArcticFox]

"I take your point, Zyrina, and stand corrected."

Regardless, the dinner goes on, and the small talk could be worse.

When the food arrives Victor's eyebrows climb his forehead. He looks down at the food, a bowl of lab-grown meatballs and reconstituted spaghetti, and says fondly that it's just like his grandmother used to make.

He eats quietly, uncharacteristically unselfconscious. Now is probably the best time if you want to have any lasting impact on your relationship with him. What will you do?

- Ask about his childhood.
- Talk about your childhood.
- Ask about the cargo.
- Chat about your business relationship.

 

[Cartoonicat]

I lift a brow, suddenly thrown off course. Victor was a person, of course, and had ties to other people outside of DRT. While not everyone has a family, he's one of the lucky ones and I find myself curious about what his childhood might have been like. It's hard to imagine Victor as anything other than an uptight corporate representative.

I don't have much time left in the day to get answers, but the opportunity here is too good to ignore.

"That sounds really nice. Did you ever cook with her?" I ask, taking a bite of my own food. I give myself a mental pat on the back for choosing this place; it does taste good.

 

[ArcticFox]

"Sometimes, believe it or not."

He gives you a hint of a real, true smile and shares a few anecdotes from his childhood: rich family, but tight-knit and supportive, especially when ten-year-old Victor decided to invest in the lemonade stands of fellow children from lower socio-economic classes and turn a profit from the venture.

He goes on to talk about other captains he's worked with.

"Some of them have been difficult in the past," he confides, after a second glass of beer. "The Orinoco Dream, the Mosaic - Captain Katsumoto had the gall to try to sell our own cargo back to us at the end! And Schultz, well you know what she did with those damned pirates."

He rolls his eyes and buys you another drink, and the conversation moves on.

- Talk more.
- Flirt.
- End the dinner.