Passing of the Torch

Posted on Friday May 17th, 2019 @ 22:09 hours by Ares Onasis & Colt McCormick & Clinton Westbrooke Jr
Edited on on Friday May 17th, 2019 @ 22:11 hours

Mission: Pixie Dust
Location: Deck 13 - Storage Bay, Quartermaster's Office
Timeline: MD05 - 0800 Hours
1757 words - 3.5 OF Standard Post Measure

It had been incredibly difficult for Ares to crawl out of bed. Colt’s warm body and smooth skin pressed up against her bare back left her wanting to not move ever again. Her body was clean again. Every last ounce of the addictive chemicals she had placed in her body over the course of the past year were finally depleted out of her system. She felt like a gigantic weight had been lifted off her shoulders and now she was able to fully realize how crazy May truly was for promoting her. She was probably the least qualified member of the crew as she had only traveled outside of the Solar System for the first time the month before and after her acquittal. But she had been through more than most of the crew could even imagine happening. That was maybe what drew May to her. Her darkness was her strength.

Ares rolled over, letting out a pleased sigh as she wrapped herself around the still sleeping Colt. His eyes barely opened at the movement as he let out a small grunt. He could definitely get used to waking up like this. “Mmm, good morning, Sweetheart,” he stated a suavely as he could with his groggy voice. He leaned forward, wrapped his full lips around hers and feasting off of her strong kiss. As he pulled back, he tip-toed his fingers up her torso, running over every inch of her curves, and landed on her jaw. “Time for a quickie?”

The woman chuckled at his bold yet innocent question. It sent a chill up her spine and caused a slight pressure on her lower torso that was only going to get worse the more she thought about him on top of her. “I wish. I gotta meet a couple of the new crewmembers Droz picked up yesterday. Raincheck, though.” She returned his kiss and gave his rear-end a playfully squeeze. “You can stay and relax. I’ll bring back some coffee and food from the Mess Hall.”

Dressed in her usual black tank top and black fitted tactical pants and black boots, Ares threw her long chocolate curls up into a messy bun on her way to the Quartermaster’s area. She had only briefly read up on the new addition: he was a fighter. She could relate wholeheartedly, and her curiosity was piqued as she hoped she wasn’t going to have to worry about bursting his ego bubble.

As she approached she heard a deep, gravelly voice that sounded somehow weathered and youthful at the same time, speaking to a deckhand, "No, that one. ... Bro, that one. There. That I'm pointing at. That one," The voice repeated. "'ey... you new here or somethin'?"

"I don't... the red one?" A younger voice came back.

"Am I pointing at the red one?" the other voice replied.

"I DON'T KNOW," The younger one barked.

As she rounded the corner, a large man was pulling himself out from under a console and making his way over to a deckhand. He shoved his hands in his front pockets and hunched his shoulders forward, looking at the young man like he wasn't quite sure what to make of him. The older man stood a good six inches over the deck hand, and was almost twice as wide... to say he was intimidating would be an understatement. To the kids credit, he stood his ground and scowled back at the older man.

"I don't like being yelled at," The older man said. "Damages my calm."

"Well, I don't like being given shit instructions," The Deck hand bit back.

The taller man, presumable the man that Ares was here to meet, rolled his head back and sighed, "You take notice to how I had 'em laid out, boy?"

"What?"

"Two, on each level of this console. Right?" Clint asked.

"I... yeah..."

"And I was pointing low, along the floor, right?" Clint continued.

"Yeah, but..."

"And to the left, yeah?" Clint asked, pointedly.

"Well... yeah... I guess..."

"So why were you asking me if I wanted the isolinear chips on the top right?" He asked, flatly.

"Well... I guess... I..."

Clint noticed the new arrival and looked her up and down as discretely as he knew how... which admittedly, wasn't very discreet, "We're done here."

"Yeah, but--"

Clint spun his head back around to glare at the deck hand, "We're. Done. Here."

The glare he received that time seemed to work, and the Deck Hand nodded and departed as fast as he could.

"'ey, How you doing? I'm Clint," He said, wiping some soot off his hands with a nearby rag and offering it to the woman. "And you are?"

Ares’s eyebrows jumped up as she looked at the slightly hardened and beaten hands still recovering from the night before. Apparently, he declined the medical treatment typically offered at the jail. Good on him. He was rough and full of sharp edges, just like her. She sleekly fit her hand into his and gave it a firm shake. “Ares. First mate.” Her lips tilted up as she watched his eyes move over her with a bit of hunger. Another time and another place, she’d be all over him. He was tall and strong and grabbed the bull by the balls. He would be good to have fun with, but nothing more. But it was good to know if she needed something from him, she’d be able to twirl around a bit to get it.

Clint raises his eyebrows a bit and made an approving face, "I got two bossladies on this boat, huh?" He asked with a grin. "That's not a common thing, even these days. I like it," He said with a chuckle.

"I'm sure you do," Ares dropped her hand and placed it back into her pocket where she stood comfortably in front of him. "I should apologize for the Captain's habit of hiring meatheads for deckhands. All brawn, no brains. At least they're pretty to look at." She gave him a smirk as she looked at how much he had already cleaned up during his short time onboard.

"Eh, no worries. Wouldn't be a deckhand if they had brains, yeah?" Clint replied with a grin as he went back to work, "I'm assuming you don't mind if I work while we talk right?" He asked, already elbow deep in one of the consoles.

Ares shook her head as she leaned back with her left foot up against the wall. "Go for it. Just wanted to hear more about you if you don't mind sharing. Anything you think is pertinent is fine. I'm not picky."

"I don't think it's pretinent to a damn thing, but it'll come up I'm sure. I'm the son of a Starfleet admiral. 'ccording to your Skipper, it sounds like he caused the crew some legal trouble s while ago," He explained. He sniffed, "Other than that, I like to lead with my fists sometimes... Which ain't always great, I know, but it's functional."

Ares laughed. “Well, this is a big ‘Fuck you’ to your dad, isn’t it?” She moved her thumb under her lower lip in thought. “I hope the apple doesn’t fall from the same tree.” Hey eyes darkened, looking almost black and haunting. “You good? Or am I going to have issues?”

Clint chuckled as he went back to work, "I don't think I even came from the same orchard. Got discharge from the academy for punching a superior officer... He deserved every bit of it. Besides, I'm sure they replaced the teeth I knocked out," He said, sounding grumbly.

Here that may get you a promotion, Ares thought with amusement as the cool and nonchalant smirk returned to her lips. “Just watch who you punch around here, fyle mou, okay? Not like we have the most sophisticated Infirmary in the quadrant.”

Clint scoffed a bit as he worked, "This guy was an Ensign, about to be a Lt JG. Came back to academy for some additional training. I caught him in an alcove with a forth year cadet telling her that if she didn't let him have his way with her, he'd ruin her career. He got what he deserved," He said, simply. "Starfleet command didn't feel that way, but I ain't losing sleep over it," He said with a chuckle. "So long as we don't have any of that on board, I'll keep my fists to myself... can't promise much otherwise," He said, bluntly.

“If anyone tried that bullshit with me I’d handle it myself,” she let off a scoff, letting her eyes wander around her old workspace that had only been hers for a few days. It amazed her that quid pro quo was still a thing in the 25th Century. At least the male cops she worked with just wanted to get laid at no cost to their partner. So far Clint seemed like a good find. He was a bit brutish but he had a somewhat steady moral compass.

Clint let out a chuckle again, "I don't doubt that, boss lady. I'll probably kick 'em a few times after you're done though, huh?" He said with a smirk.

Ares chuckled softly. “Teamwork makes the dream work… That’s the saying, right?” Pushing her foot off the wall, she straightened herself up, trying to look a bit more ‘in charge.’ “Need anything from me? Don’t hesitate to ask.”

Clint was grinning at her comment as he spoke, "Nah, your last quartermaster kept good house. Ship as old as this, I was expecting to have to scrap everything and clean up. If they're still around tell 'em I said that's for not being garbage," He replied, giving her a bit more attention at the more direct tone in her question.

Ares’s eyes brightened at the compliment, though she kept her lips in the same loose crooked grin. “You just did. Seriously, you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” She then gave him a final nod before heading out into the hallway. She always enjoyed leaving with a bit of mystery trailing behind her.

Clint chuckled to himself as she left. For once, he opened his big mouth and got the opposite of trouble. Had to happen eventually.

Shaking his head, he went back to his work... maybe this would work out after all.

OFF:

Ares Onasis
First Mate

Clint Westbrook Jr
Quartermaster

Colt McCormick (NPC - Ares)
Passenger