CH5: All Work and No Play (Cain + Sean)
Jan 17, 2019 11:30:17 GMT -6
Post by Captain Ameijin! on Jan 17, 2019 11:30:17 GMT -6
The Menaulion’s hangar was eerily quiet for once. The majority of the crew was either in the mess hall, having a final bash before the end of their maintenance period and the start of their new tour, or off enjoying what little remained of their shore leave. For Cain, it was neither.
Only the sound of faint steps going through the hangar could be heard as he made his way to the Wolfsbane. The catwalk couldn’t hide the pilot’s approach, but it didn’t matter. The cockpit swung open, and he tossed something inside without a second thought. Cain stepped in not long after, turning on the console to make some last minute adjustments.
Of course, the hangar door was wide open, and the setting sun granted the hangar partial illumination. Some of the machines were out, still not put away from late maintenance procedures. He wasn’t alone.
“Just like ye to slither away from the crowd to fiddle with yer machine one last time, isn't it?”
The red-haired man was suspended from his Spartan's frame by a thick rope hung tight around its neck. A respirator wrapped around his face, keeping the noxious fumes from the paint from entering his mouth and lungs. Sean was insistent that he be the one to put the final touches on his new paint job, giving the tired mechanics a moment's rest.
“Of course, it's not like I’m one to talk. Just couldn't be happy with my new machine until I gave it the personal touch.”
The pilot peeked out of his cockpit for just a moment, if only to get a better look at the decal Sean seemed to be busy working on. Artistic talent aside, he couldn’t help but to squint at the strange set up and the sheer dedication one man could have for… Decals.
“Looks like ass.”
“Funny ye should say that. That’s the only decal they refused to let me use…”
Cain sat back in his seat, though was unable to avoid the gaze of Sean considering his Spartan was parked directly in front of his Phoros. Part of it, though, was the pilot occasionally peeking up to see what new touch the lunar would add, if nothing but to satisfy his curiosity.
“...why bother, anyways? The mechanics could do it faster and with less hassle if you just put in the request.”
Sean climbed higher onto the rope, feet planted firmly onto the sturdy metal frame. He inspected his work from every angle he could. From the half-blue helmet to the dirty plaid skirt, every can of paint made the Spartan look more and more like an action movie's take on William Wallace.
“Wish I could say that I wanted to give those hard-working mechanics a break,” Sean answered as he resumed spraying. “But if I'm going to be honest, I figured that if ye want something done right you ought to just do it yerself.”
“Uh huh.”
Cain kept himself busy at his console, eyes focused on the pressing diagnostics while occasionally peeking out at the abomination Sean was working on. For all his energy, he apparently couldn’t think of a better looking design to use.
“I meant you should have run it by the mechanics so they could make it look actually nice.”
He wasn’t one to talk about decals, anyways, even with the ‘upgrades’, the Wolfsbane sported the exact same decal it always had on its shoulder. A pink and sky blue rose, lightly painted to the point that it had frequently come back scuffed and hidden from damage. Cain never seemed to explain exactly what it meant, if anything at all.
“Or better yet, maybe you should run yourself through some sims with your new machine. Might do you some good.”
Sean couldn’t help but laugh in response, though it wasn't clear what was so funny. Paint sputtered erratically from his can. After giving it a thorough shake to get the last few drops out of it, he dropped the can onto the metal floor below where it crashed with a CLANG followed by several smaller clangs until it finally rolled over towards the Spartan's foot.
“Haven't ye heard the expression ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’?”
“Jack also wasn’t fighting a war.”
There was a scoff in there, somewhere, but it was relatively quiet, punctuated only by the sound of the pilot shutting his cockpit, now outside his machine. He hung on the outer rim by one hand, his gaze fixated on the can that had so loudly clanged against the floor. Slowly, he worked his way up to the redhead who had rudely dropped it, before rolling his eyes.
“I’ll never see what you see in this whole mess… But you’ve got decent aim, so there’s that I guess.”
“Careful now… that almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Almost.” Cain repeated back to him, pointing a single finger towards the redhead as he carefully descended his machine. “Almost.”
“Someday I might just hear ye say something sincere for once.”
The few remaining patches of unpainted metal were quickly covered as Sean put the finishing touches on his machine. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he slowly unspooled the rope from his waist. His toes soon touched the ground. The rest of his weight shifted onto his heels as he loosened the knot around himself, jostling the other end to see if it would come undone. The rope held strong.
“But until that day comes, ye can kiss my arse.”
Only the sound of faint steps going through the hangar could be heard as he made his way to the Wolfsbane. The catwalk couldn’t hide the pilot’s approach, but it didn’t matter. The cockpit swung open, and he tossed something inside without a second thought. Cain stepped in not long after, turning on the console to make some last minute adjustments.
Of course, the hangar door was wide open, and the setting sun granted the hangar partial illumination. Some of the machines were out, still not put away from late maintenance procedures. He wasn’t alone.
“Just like ye to slither away from the crowd to fiddle with yer machine one last time, isn't it?”
The red-haired man was suspended from his Spartan's frame by a thick rope hung tight around its neck. A respirator wrapped around his face, keeping the noxious fumes from the paint from entering his mouth and lungs. Sean was insistent that he be the one to put the final touches on his new paint job, giving the tired mechanics a moment's rest.
“Of course, it's not like I’m one to talk. Just couldn't be happy with my new machine until I gave it the personal touch.”
The pilot peeked out of his cockpit for just a moment, if only to get a better look at the decal Sean seemed to be busy working on. Artistic talent aside, he couldn’t help but to squint at the strange set up and the sheer dedication one man could have for… Decals.
“Looks like ass.”
“Funny ye should say that. That’s the only decal they refused to let me use…”
Cain sat back in his seat, though was unable to avoid the gaze of Sean considering his Spartan was parked directly in front of his Phoros. Part of it, though, was the pilot occasionally peeking up to see what new touch the lunar would add, if nothing but to satisfy his curiosity.
“...why bother, anyways? The mechanics could do it faster and with less hassle if you just put in the request.”
Sean climbed higher onto the rope, feet planted firmly onto the sturdy metal frame. He inspected his work from every angle he could. From the half-blue helmet to the dirty plaid skirt, every can of paint made the Spartan look more and more like an action movie's take on William Wallace.
“Wish I could say that I wanted to give those hard-working mechanics a break,” Sean answered as he resumed spraying. “But if I'm going to be honest, I figured that if ye want something done right you ought to just do it yerself.”
“Uh huh.”
Cain kept himself busy at his console, eyes focused on the pressing diagnostics while occasionally peeking out at the abomination Sean was working on. For all his energy, he apparently couldn’t think of a better looking design to use.
“I meant you should have run it by the mechanics so they could make it look actually nice.”
He wasn’t one to talk about decals, anyways, even with the ‘upgrades’, the Wolfsbane sported the exact same decal it always had on its shoulder. A pink and sky blue rose, lightly painted to the point that it had frequently come back scuffed and hidden from damage. Cain never seemed to explain exactly what it meant, if anything at all.
“Or better yet, maybe you should run yourself through some sims with your new machine. Might do you some good.”
Sean couldn’t help but laugh in response, though it wasn't clear what was so funny. Paint sputtered erratically from his can. After giving it a thorough shake to get the last few drops out of it, he dropped the can onto the metal floor below where it crashed with a CLANG followed by several smaller clangs until it finally rolled over towards the Spartan's foot.
“Haven't ye heard the expression ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’?”
“Jack also wasn’t fighting a war.”
There was a scoff in there, somewhere, but it was relatively quiet, punctuated only by the sound of the pilot shutting his cockpit, now outside his machine. He hung on the outer rim by one hand, his gaze fixated on the can that had so loudly clanged against the floor. Slowly, he worked his way up to the redhead who had rudely dropped it, before rolling his eyes.
“I’ll never see what you see in this whole mess… But you’ve got decent aim, so there’s that I guess.”
“Careful now… that almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Almost.” Cain repeated back to him, pointing a single finger towards the redhead as he carefully descended his machine. “Almost.”
“Someday I might just hear ye say something sincere for once.”
The few remaining patches of unpainted metal were quickly covered as Sean put the finishing touches on his machine. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he slowly unspooled the rope from his waist. His toes soon touched the ground. The rest of his weight shifted onto his heels as he loosened the knot around himself, jostling the other end to see if it would come undone. The rope held strong.
“But until that day comes, ye can kiss my arse.”