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<Cockpit, Fallen Angel>
The cockpit is a little larger than expected, three of four people can fit in it comfortably. The crimson chairs, especially the piloting and captain ones, are comfortable enough they could be slept in without discomfort. The switches and buttons are surrounded by sleek silver and black paneling.
Marcus is half snoozing, there are several star charts sitting around him and his feet are up on the console, a bad habit to get into maybe, but at least they are on the ground currently and the engines are off.
Half curious about the ship, and vaguely wondering where Marcus was, Betsy finally has gotten the courage to explore all the way up to the bridge. She's got one of her hand rolled, sweet tobacco sticks lit, idly savoring the sweet leaf as she wanders through the ship. She steps into the room then pauses, smirking deeply sa she sees him apparently asleep there. Slowly, much more quiet, she begins creeping in his direction.
Marcus apparently may or may not actually be awake, he moves a little, nose twitching, feet repositioning, eyes though remain closed and his body stays relaxed and lounging, head leaned forward over the console. He is either asleep, or very deep in thought because he seems oblivious to the person coming up behind him.
Careful to keep her tobacco away from him, that hand holding it off to the side, Betsy leans over dangerously close, lips near his ear, and whispers, "Need someone to carry you to bed, trouble?" She knows this might earn her a punch or worse, but it was worth it, grinning like a devil as she hovers right next to him, her chest JUST slightly brushing the back of his shoulders.
Marcus startles awake at the whisper in his ear and he comes up punching, a wild swing is thrown in the direction of the voice as he spins into a crouch, it is almost a text book maneuver and seems to at least partially catch Betsy by surprise though she responds not with her brain, but with her finely honed muscle memory, catching the blow solidly with a forearm block.
Well, she probably deserved that. She gives a half yelp but falls immediately into the best block so her face doesn't take the hit but her arm. Her other arm comes up, tobacco forgotten and now smoldering on the floor where it was dropped, as she instinctively reaches for the grab and wrist break that is her usual follow up. But he's awake now and she stops, a breathless half second later, staring at him with wide eyes, "Shit. Guess you still got your wits about you. You're as bad as I am." She doesn't quite let her arms drop just in case he isn't totally away and moves to hit again. She's had those moments herself.
Marcus chuckles and shakes his head as he identifies his would be attacker. He leans over and picks up her cig, taking a slow drag and then offering it back to her. "No one is as bad as you are," He sighs, "Sorry I wasn't all here."
"No… probably not." The comment that no one is as bad as she is changes her face for a moment. She's somewhere else. Not somewhere comfortable. It's probably gotten worse, since the last time they actually had time together. She accepts her cigarello back, though, taking a deeper drag of it to refocus her mind for a moment. Her devil may care smile returns easily, "Nah, no reason to be sorry. I just figured I'd make certain you still were sharp. Gotta stay on your toes in this business."
"I am glad our new security officer takes her job seriously" He grins "And isn't just a pretty face." He shakes his head before moving some of the books of star charts and trade routes off one of the spare seats. "Found any more stowaways?"
"Without some hard ass Alliance CO, who's going to make certain you ain't slacking off, eh?" Betsy teases him gently before swinging down into the chair he's cleared for her. She kicks her legs up on the console, at least polite enough not to put them on the star charts, as she leans back and drags deeply off her tobacco. "No stowaways. Embarrassed as hell I missed that guy… gonna drive me crazy for weeks now. I'll be staring at every shadow on this ship wondering if some drunk the Captain decided was fun is going to pop up there."
Marcus nods, "Well we are currently without a Doctor or a Mechanic, so we are stuck in Dry Dock till we get someone on board that can fix … well anything." He shakes his head, "So we haven't talked in a while what do you do for fun these days, besides drinking, shooting, punching, and smoking that is"
"Guess I just won't get shot." Which, from the evidence of her back, isn't smoething she's all that good at. Bets idly takes the cigarette back, shoulders sinking a bit deeper into the chair as she does let herself relax, if just by a few inches, when in his company. She's swivled the chair around to be facing him just like he did last night, so they jointly have eyes on the entire room. "You and those stars… you know, I'm… kinda glad you did get out? Sure, you got to fly things there, but… always on someone's leash. They'd never have let you see this much…"
"I am not sure typing coordinates into a computer bank to set the course of a Two-hundred-thousand ton Alliance Battlecruiser and then taking a 9 hour nap until the next course change, counts as piloting. " He chuckles, "If I hadn't gotten out, i wouldn't be here right now, so I guess I got out at the right time."
"You were always wasted there. But… the money was good. I remember that." A bittersweet smile cuts across her features. She's definitely lost weight, both in muscle and in simple bulk, since the last time they knew each other. She looks more sharp edges and ragged, fraying pieces. Like the strange buzz of her hair — which is slightly growing out too much for her liking already, was just an example of how much of herself was cut away or pruned. How much life had changed. "I'm sorry I didn't…warn you faster. I didn't even know if the message would get through to you at all."
Marcus shakes his head, "It worked out" He chuckles softly and leans forward his hand coming up to the side of her head, "So what is up with this?" His fingers touched the shaved portion.
There was a faint tattoo as well, though it wasn't much visible through the grown out buzz cut right now, just hints of green, like leaves winding up her skull. The hair didn't grow in quite well or right in some of the lines where that green was. She frowns slightly, instinctively jerking away from that touch for just a moment, before she lets his fingertips linger there. "I… I can't really remember… what I did at first. What happened. Maybe I was drunk, or something. There were burns. I burnt… a chunk of it off, some in lines… When I finally got out, I just shaved it. Tried to cover up some of the scars…" She rubs at the side of her head, nose wrinkling, "Needs clipped again. It's gonna get real itchy soon. Drive me nuts.
"It's beautiful, and it suits you, well the new you." He grins a little, "Though why hide your scars? They are what define you, tell the story of who you are. " He bites his lip, "Though I guess that what you are trying to avoid isn't it?"
Bets is silent for a long moment, not quite looking at him. Her expression is a muddled mix of shame and fear. That same fear he's seen flicker across her face, something different than was ever there before. "I guess… maybe the story would matter more if I remembered… what it was. I honestly don't… remember, Marcus. How do you wear your shit with pride when you don't know how you got it?"
"Did you survive it?" He looks at her, "In spirt of all of it, whatever it was, however bad it was, are you still here?" He catches her eyes, "Are you still you, or some version of you, some stronger, tougher, more badass, version of you?" He smiles, "the scars are part of you, and that makes them important, because you are important…."
As he looks for her eyes, she dares let her gaze move back to him, not shying away from the look even if she was tempted. Betsy looks horribly young in these moments, more like Ellie but somehow also more lost. She listens to him, brow knit faintly, disbelief in her gaze even as he says nicer things than she's heard in ages. "I'm still breathin', so I guess I survived it. I don't know how bad ass it is to have spent the last year I held down a full time job so gorram drunk I don't remember 90 percent of it. And now you're *really* just being a sweet talker…" She shakes her head slowly, that smirk stretching across her mouth again.
Marcus leans over and kisses her square in the forehead, "I'm just telling the truth" He chuckles, "Sweet talking is not exactly in my skill set, you know that." He shakes his head, "But I for one am really glad your survived, and are here right now, and thats just the truth." He bites his lip and turns away from her, possibly to hide his face he then opens up one of the books, "Now you get back to work and stop distracting me, or we will never get out of dry dock."
Betsy's eyes close as he kisses her forehead. She'd never have let it fly before, but now these bits of humanity have just been very, very nice. She exhales slowly through her nose and sits back again, remembering her neglected tobacco, though she'll have to find a lighter. "Seems you got better at it since I tried to get you a date at those bars." She teases him softly. But then he's turning away and she realizes just how close they were… She abruptly stands up too. Her head tilts, trying to see if maybe, just maybe he was blushing, but she's got a hint of heat on her cheeks herself, so she has no room to speak. "Yeah. I… I should probably do another circle. Maybe finally find the XO. Uh… you know where to find me. If you need. And get… get some actual rest, Marcus. Bridge is no place for a nap." She then turns on the ball of her foot, headed back out the door, though she steals one last look back at him.
Marcus apparently does have a little flush to his cheek, and he, unfortunately for him, did decide to turn to watch her saunter out. Which means the moment she steals the look back, she catches his eyes on her back side, and the quick guilty turn away, if he wasn't blushing before h