who_is_she | (no subject)

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"Anthony..." Hillis was saying, his expression unhappy, though Anthony can't quite put his finger on why, "I rejected your father's active duty request. This isn't your job." Anthony stiffened a little at the mention of his father, his gaze sliding up to focus on a spot on the wall rather than make eye contact with Agent Hillis.

"This hasn't anything to do with my father," Anthony said, his voice carefully neutral, and he tried not to remember the way his mother had smiled and said 'your father will be so pleased' when he told her his plan to volunteer for this mission, "I have an interest in this assignment, and feel I could perform the required duties satisfactorily. As the assignment is categorized a class-5 observational, my current clearance level is more than sufficient to qualify me as an assigned agent." Anthony paused for a moment, glancing down just long enough to see the bewildered look on Agent Hillis' face before looking at the wall again.

"It's not your qualifications I'm objecting to here, Anthony," Hillis said, sounding baffled, "Of course you're qualified. You're over qualified! This is the kind of mission we'd assign a green agent to, and you've got two degrees and five years of experience under your belt!"

"Then, respectfully, Sir, what is your objection?" Anthony asked, his voice still flat and polite.

"To-- ...Anthony," Hillis sighed, rubbing his forehead, "Your evaluation may have only restricted you from high-level active duty, but it was just to avoid stress. Technically, yes, you can take this assignment, but I'm not sure rushing out to perform an active investigation while running all over the galaxy is a good way to avoid stress!" Anthony bites the inside of his cheek, feeling annoyance at Agent Hillis' bringing up the evaluation that had ruined his chance at the path he'd been working towards his whole life.

"This is your only objection, then? Your perceived danger to my psyche?" Anthony asks, meeting Hillis' gaze passively.

"Er... Well, yes," he started, and looked like he wanted to keep talking, but Anthony bowled over him.

"Then I can assure you I take my own health very seriously and will resign from this assignment should I suspect my well-being is compromised at any time."

Hillis looked at him for a long moment, his eyebrows furrowed, before he sighed and shook his head.

"I'll hold you to that," Hillis says softly, shuffling through the paperwork on his desk and signing his confirmation of assigning Anthony to the EFS Tacoma.

"Thank you, Sir," Anthony said as he reached out to take the signed paperwork, but Hillis didn't release it immediately.

"Take care of yourself, Agent Miller," Hillis said sternly, and didn't release the papers until Anthony nodded his agreement.

"They're releasing the ship from federal custody tomorrow at 0800, you need to be there for the inspection and then take off afterwards. I expect regular updates and reports," Hillis said, frowning and shuffling through the other papers on his desk.

"Of course, Sir, you know how I feel about paperwork," Anthony said, attempting a joke to counteract the sour look on Agent Hillis' face, and it seems to work when Hillis pauses and then smirks up at Anthony.

"Dismissed," is all he says, but Anthony feels comforted by the warm smile on his face.

Anthony is at the docks early the next morning with the excuse of filling out the preliminary exterior inspection, but really there’s a nervous thrill in his guy that hadn’t allowed him to sleep any longer. He’s not quite sure if the thrill is dread or excitement, though judging by the number of violations he’d found just walking around outside Mr. Jaurez’s ship, it was probably dread.

He’d assumed the charges laid against Mr. Jaurez were the result of his father wanting to keep tabs on the people who had threatened his position more than any factual suspicion, but he was now starting to wonder if it was the intersection of both.

The inspection sticker was woefully out of date, and the last time it had been updated the inspector had just written over the last sticker with a marker, which showed a shocking disregard for rules and regulations.

Anthony was standing at attention with his clipboard ready at 0800, his expression severe and growing more severe as his watch ticked over to 0801 and Mr. Jaurez and his crew were nowhere to be seen.

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Roddie had missed his alarm, and found himself rolling out of bed about thirty minutes past the time he'd meant to get up. It wasn't entirely his fault; he'd been missing out on a lot of his much needed sleep, and not only because he'd been forced into the cramped hotel room with three aliens who, although he loved them dearly, were pretty lousy to bunk with in such close quarters.

"Shit," he grumbles, looking at the clock and trying his best to rouse himself into a more conscious state, "Shit! Guys, wake up, guys we gotta go. We're late, oh, shit!"

He rouses the aliens (carefully, so as to avoid another attempted stabbing courtesy of a half-asleep Zakeef), fighting the panic in his gut as he ushers them all out the door without sparing any time to grab food or anything besides the small suitcases they'd been living out of. Eve had loaned the group her car (she had offered to drive them as well, but Roddie couldn't bear to ask her to get up at the ridiculously early hour he'd been told to arrive at the station), and after throwing their bags in the trunk they all pile in, with Boscha in the front next to Roddie, and Vira and Zakeef sitting as far apart as they could manage to sit in the back.

The drive is relatively quiet. Zakeef breaks the silence once to tell Roddie to stop jittering his leg, and to reassure him that they're not going to confiscate his ship just because he was a few minutes behind schedule, but the uncertainty behind his words seeps through, and they don't give Roddie much comfort.

Finally, they arrived at the station, and after gathering their things and leaving the car and the keys with security for Eve to pick up later, Roddie and the others make their way to the docks. Roddie is out of breath and still only half awake on his arrival, but the sight of the Tacoma puts a bigger smile on his face than he's had in months. For a moment, he can't see anything else.

"There it is. There it is, guys!" he shouts, and he runs up to it and practically hugs it, resting the weight of his exhausted body against the side and heaving a sigh of relief.

"Hey, buddy, you miss me?" he laughs, somewhat deleriously, before standing back upright. It's only then that he notices the young man standing near the ship. He's thin, sort of pointy, with parted hair, wearing a blue uniform, and he's standing with impeccable posture and looking at Roddie disdainfully over the edge of a tablet.

"Oh," Roddie says, his face falling a little bit, "Are you...you're the guy, right?"

"Mr. Juarez, I presume?" Anthony says disdainfully, pursing his lips at the display flaunting rules and regulations, "Step away from the ship, please. That goes for all of you." Anthony points his pen at Juarez, then at his crewmates in turn, "I'm the agent assigned to your case, and I haven't cleared this ship's inspection yet. Are you aware of all the code violations on just the outside of your ship? Novelty high-density stickers, while very amusing, are a serious hazard."

Anthony finally looks up from his tablet, getting a good look at Roderigo and staring. The mugshot hadn't done him justice, though he hadn't even looked unattractive then. It just couldn't capture him in a small photograph, and unbidden the word beautiful echoes around Anthony's head.

Anthony stiffens a little, his expression getting a little more severe at the realization that Roderigo Juarez, the boy he was supposed to be arresting, was cute.

Roddie's eyes widen in surprise, and his mouth falls open in surprise. He closes it quickly, however, and looks back over his shoulders at his friends' equally indignant faces, shaking his head at them and doing a zipping motion over his lips before reluctantly turning back to face the apparently very angry man in front of him.

"Jesus, you guys have been 'inspecting' the ship for months, you'd think you'd have done this before the morning we're supposed to leave," he mutters under his breath, then, clearing his throat, speaks a little more clearly.

"Look, man, sir, can we just go on board? We're tired. We've been living in a hotel room meant for like, one and a half people. We want to put our stuff away." His tone is weary; he'd hoped beyond hope that maybe, just maybe, they'd stick him with someone who didn't hate him, who might just cut him a little slack, but it seemed even his lowest hopes were being dashed.

Anthony stiffens a little, realizing that probably more than half of the mess had been made by the goons his father had sent to search the ship for an excuse to arrest Mr. Juarez and his friends.

"They may have done it before, but they are likely not as thorough as I am," Anthony says, somewhat scathingly, his thoughts on his father's disregard for procedure and justice more than the group in front of him.

When Mr. Juarez makes his wary plea Anthony looks over at him, considering, and glances over his crew, as well. He knew all their names, knew their vital statistics, but until now he hadn't really known them as people. People who had been forced into a difficult situation by his own department's ineptitude.

"All right," he says, sighing, and with a couple of taps the locks on the ship's landing gear release with a grinding thunk, "We need to prepare for liftoff and we're behind schedule as it is. I can complete the inspection later today." He nods, to himself, and commands the ship's hatch to open, motioning for the crew to file inside and watching them as they do.

Roddie heaves a sigh of relief and slings his duffel bag over his shoulder. He considers thanking the man for letting him on board, but can't quite summon the will to act thankful towards the people who had confiscated it in the first place, and his anger only grows when he sees how annoyed their new travelling companion looks at being bothered with such a simple request. So, rather than expressing gratitude, he brushes past him roughly as he enters the ship, followed by Vira, an eager Boscha, and finally Zakeef, who pointedly refuses to make eye contact with the agent as he passes.

"All right, guys," Roddie starts in, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, "Go put your stuff in your quarters and head to your stations to start getting ready for liftoff. I dunno how much stuff's been moved around, but...well, we'll worry about that later. I'm gonna show...this guy around, keep me posted on how we're doing."

He gives the group a thumbs up, which Vira returns with all four of her hands, and the three of them set off towards their areas of the ship, leaving Roddie alone with the young man in uniform. Roddie clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with his metal hand before setting off down the hall.

"C'mon, I'll show you where you can put your stuff," he says, motioning for the man to follow and stopping in front of the door across the hall from his own room, "You got a name, G-Man? Or am I just going to have to call you G-Man?"

Anthony watches them march past, marking them off as they pass him, and with a sinking feeling he realizes they all have varying degrees of the same glare on their faces. He feels like he's back in grade-school gym class, his face burning as he gets picked last for teams. They must see him as an enemy, he realizes, a symbol of what they've been fighting against the whole time, and he's not sure why this is only occurring to him now. He thinks--maybe, just maybe--he'd fallen for the romantic story that had been laid before him in so many reports: the unlikely hero, rising up from oppression and obscurity to triumph over evil.

Reality isn't so cut and dry, and he's not sure why he's surprised by the loathing pointed at him when he works for the evil that hadn't quite been triumphed over.

Anthony follows the crew inside the ship, allowing a large amount of space between himself and them, acutely aware now of how little he was wanted, now. Just as he makes it up to the group they all scatter, except for Juarez, who has an expression like he was the team captain forced to choose the least-liked kid for his team.

"Anthony Miller. Agent Anthony Miller. You can call me Agent Miller," he says flatly, avoiding Juarez's gaze.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna call you that," Roddie laughs to himself, shaking his head as he hits the button to open the door, "And you're not gonna call me Mr. Juarez, or Captain Juarez, or any of that shit. It's weird. Call me Roddie. Throw your stuff in here for now, Anth-"

The thought is cut short when Roddir takes in the sight of the room in front of him. His eyes widen, and he slaps his forehead in shock; the room, which was basically unused before, had been ransacked, turned completely inside out. The mattress was on the floor, flipped over, all the drawers had been removed from the nightstand and the contents were scattered all over the room.

"Noo, God, why," Roddie groans, "What did you people --" If this was the state of an unoccupied room, he didn't even want to think about what the rest of the ship was going to look like. Feeling defeated, he hits his head against the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment, before turning around and rubbing the bridge of his nose as he walks across the hall and unlocks the sliding door to his own room. Despite his attempt to brace himself, the sight of his bedroom in complete and utter shambles was still distressing, even for someone like himself, who wasn't exactly a neat freak. He rakes his hands down his face as he walks over to one of his posters, which had been ripped from the wall and torn in two. Picking up one half of the poster, he turns to Tony, his expression frustrated and angry and miserable.

"Seriously?" he whines, the pitch of his voice shifting up significantly, "What the hell did you guys rip up Blue Beetle for? What, you think I had a wall safe full of crack behind him or something? Did you just, like, set a bunch of werewolves loose in here and tell them to go crazy? God, whatever, I guess I have to clean this shit up later, come on. I'll show you the kitchen and shit. Jesus."

Anthony pales a little at the state of the room, and he's just about to shut down the whole thing and revoke access until this can be tidied when Mr. Jaurez makes his reaction known. His surprise and dismay is genuine, as must be the squeaky quality his voice takes on. He looks around what must be Roderigo's room, frowning at the mess and broken possessions.

Anthony mulls over a response, and doesn't come up with something to say until they're halfway to the kitchen, and the silence between them has stretched and become awkward.

"I... Apologize for the state of your belongings. I was not... Personally responsible for the inspection of your ship. I was only assigned your ship yesterday. I can assure you that this does not align with protocol, and I will be reporting the incident," he says quietly, already tapping away on his tablet and drafting up an incident report.

"I can... assist with clean-up," he starts, then the door to the kitchen opens and they're both hit with a wave of stench, and Anthony reaches up to cough and cover his mouth, "Or... Perhaps requisition some cleaning droid to assist."

Roddie pinches his nose and wretches slightly at the stench as he walks over, dread in the pit of his stomach, and looks inside the pot on the stove. The macaroni he'd been making was still in the pot, covered in a thick layer of mold, and he grimaces at the sight and shuts his eyes before carrying it to the sink and dumping it down the garbage disposal as best as he could. The smell grows even stronger and more rancid, and he coughs as his eyes start to water.

"You had this ship for months. Months!" Roddie groans, though his voice is less severe than before, since Anthony seems at lest somewhat apologetic, and his tone comes out more tired than anything else, "You couldn't have thrown out the moldy noodles? Or, I dunno, not arrested a guy who was in the middle of making dinner?"

He grabs a sponge off the counter and scrubs the pot quickly before filling it with water and leaving it to soak, drying his hands on the sour smelling towel near the sink before wiping them on his pants and flicking the kitchen light off.

"Anyway," he grumbles as he passes by Anthony again, "Kitchen. There's a bathroom in my room, there's another one below deck. The hatch to go below deck is right here --"

He kicks at the hatch and stomps on it twice, and gets two knocks in return, which makes him smile for the first time that day.

"Boscha," he says, laughing a little, "She sleeps down there in the cargo area. Vira stays by the engine, which is the door down at the end of this hall. Zakeef's room is around the corner here, near the front of the ship, and there's a room on the other side that's got first aid stuff. And the cockpit is -- well, I guess you better just come see that. Up here."

Roddie leads Anthonh down the hall, to the opposite end of the ship from the ship's engine, and pulls down a ladder from overhead, which he scales quickly. He turns back, and offers Anthony a hand up in spite of his annoyance with him.

"Here," he says, sighing a little, "It's kind of a trick getting up, the top stair thing broke off."

Anthony winces as Roderigo's outburst, and it feels deserved. His smile at the knocking from his crewmate is disarming and Anthony finds his gaze skittering away when he sees it, feeling guilty for liking it so much.

When Mr. Juarez offers him a hand Anthony just stares at it for a long moment, his expression blank but his brain whirling with confusion and self loathing. The prospect of taking Roderigo's hand and accepting the help that was no doubt offered out of pity or some sense of obligation was less than pleasant, and he swallows thickly and shakes his head.

"I can manage, thank you," he says, ignoring Roderigo's hand as he scaled the ladder, struggling with the rung he'd indicated, his face flushing as he realized he really did need the help. He scrambles up into the cockpit less than gracefully, clearing his throat and rearranging his uniform when he was upright again, still avoiding looking directly at Mr. Juarez.

Roddie can't help but snicker a little at the sight of Anthony wriggling his way up the ramp and worming across the floor, and when he goes to stand up, Roddie reaches down and takes hold of Anthony's arm and helping him to his feet.

"I told you, dude, that last step is rough," he chuckles, letting him go and walking over to the pilots seat to sit on the arm of the chair. The cockpit was a mess, but thankfully not as much as the rest of the ship. A pack of cigarettes are scattered out on the dashboard, no doubt somewhat stale by now, but Roddies nerves overpower him, and he grabs one off the dashboard and lights it with the lighter he kept in his pocket.

"So," he says, without taking the care to blow the smoke away from Anthony's face, "What else do we need to do before we can leave?"

Anthony watches with something like horror as Roderigo lights up a cigarette, statistics about lung cancer floating around in his head but the loudest, most intrusive thought is about how hot Juarez looks while smoking. His eyelids lower slightly, and his lips purse as he blows out the smoke, and Anthony realizes he's staring when Roderigo looks at him like he's waiting for an answer.

"What?" he says, startling a little and blushing fiercely, "Oh, um, we'll need to clean up, and I'll need to complete an inspection of the engine and life support systems, but that shouldn't take too long assuming everything's working the way it should." Anthony looks down at his tablet as he talks, his ears burning as he avoids looking directly at Juarez, "We should be able to take off by tonight."

"Tonight?" Roddie repeats, choking a little on the smoke, "Tonight? Augh, man, what the hell did you guys make me wake up at five in the morning for if we're not going to take off until tonight?"

He leans back in his chair, scrubbing his face before making a raspberry sound with his lips and taking another drag of his cigarette. Then, he stands up, bumping into Anthony lightly as he passes him and sticking his cigarette between his teeth before sliding down the ladder.

"Let's go, then, let's go," he urges, motioning for the agent to follow him, "I want to get this show on the road."

Anthony does his best to help get the ship together, but in most cases he doesn't know where a particular object is meant to be, so he ends up feeling more and more like a hated nuisance. The Driss, Vira, shows him the engines and helps him perform his inspection, and she seems to catch onto his frazzled nerves and treats him kindly, which just ends up making him feel worse for being obvious about his state of mind and making her pity him.

The ship is in good condition other than the mess, and it passes the inspection, and as Anthony heads back up to the main deck he sends the all-clear to the dock and schedules their take-off window. He checks in on the room Roderigo had said he'd be staying in, expect to have to stay up late to tidy it after the others retire, but finds it in good order.

It's not spotless, but the bed is in the right spot and the furniture is arranged, and Anthony's standard issue pack is sitting on the bed, next to a fresh set of sheets and a blanket.

Anthony stands there for a long moment, staring at it, unsure what to think about this development. He thinks it must be Roderigo, as Vira was the only other crew member who seemed to tolerate his presence and she'd been with him for the last three or four hours. Boscha barely seemed to acknowledge his existence, and Zakeef had been openly hostile to him.

Anthony couldn't imagine Roderigo would simply tidy the mess he blamed Anthony for because it was kind--in Anthony's experience, nobody was that kind, especially not someone like him. He feels a thread of anxiety wind through him as he mulls over the reason Roderigo could have to do something like this--perhaps he was just trying to make him feel guilty? Or maybe it was pity, again, and Anthony's state of mind was more obvious than he had originally assumed.

He ends up standing in the doorway of his room without moving (aside from wringing his hands) for ten minutes, and starts when he realizes their takeoff window is ticking by. He makes his way back to the cockpit, until he remembers the stupid ladder he'd made a fool of himself on earlier, and wonders if he can avoid going up it at all.

"Mr. Juarez?" he says into his communicator that he'd hooked into the ship's systems, "You're free to take off."

"I am?" Roddie shouts from his room as soon as the message reaches his ears, "I am? I am! We're free to take off!"

He bursts through the doors to his room, running down the hall and banging on Zakeef's door.

"Zakeef! Zakeef! We're taking off! Come on!" he shouts, pressing his mouth directly against the crack in the door.

"I heard, Gods, I heard!" Zakeef growls, muffled by the wall between them, and in a few moments he emerges, only to be grabbed immediately by Roddie and shoved down the hallway towards the ladder by Roddie, who was jumping up and down excitedly.

"I'm going!" Zakeef groans, "I'm walking, get off me!" He enters the cockpit ahead of Roddie, giving Roddie the opportunity to slap him on the butt just before he steps fully into the room, eliciting an angry squawk and a light kick in the shoulder.

"Quit it!" Zakeef shouts down at him, and Roddie snickers as he climbs up the ladder behind him. Just before he steps up into the cockpit, he turns around, and the stupid grin on his face falters a little when he sees the agent standing at the bottom of the ladder.

"Oh," he says, chewing his lip, "Uh...thanks. For making that, you know...pretty quick. You coming up? Here, let me give you a hand this time." He doesn't wait for Anthony to snub him this time, reaching down and taking his hand and helping him up the ladder. Once he's up, he pats his back and offers him a grin.

"I -- did you see I, um, cleaned?" he asks, scratching his head before plopping down in his chair next to Zakeef and starting up the ship, "Some, at least."

Anthony squawks when he's pulled up into the cockpit, stumbling forward and giving Juarez a disbelieving look. He doesn't feel comforted when the captain just smiles at him and pats him on the back, then launches into a shy question about his room. Anthony clears his throat and straightens his uniform, buying himself time while his mind whirls trying to figure out what Roderigo's intentions are.

"I... saw," he manages finally, his shoulders stiff as he glances around at the rest of the crew gathering in the cockpit, his anxiety mounting by the second, "Thank you. You didn't have to. I could have gotten to it later," he says, his voice flat but a little distracted as he keeps glancing towards Roderigo and then away again.

He realizes for the first time that he's going to stay on board this ship as it launches, and then heads out into the dark of space. He stares out the viewscreen with wide eyes, contemplating leaving the planet for the first time, and also contemplating losing his lunch all over the cockpit.

"Nah, it's no problem," Roddie says, shaking his head and turning back to the dashboard. He flips a few switches and gives Zakeef a thumbs up, and receives an eyeroll in return.

"You got this, buddy," he says, buckling his seatbelt and swiveling his chair around before locking it in place facing the crew.

"Vira, the anti-momentum and false gravity are both good to go, right?" he asks.

"Of course," she responds, "But as always, please don't --"

"Activate them until we're in orbit, I know, thanks," Roddie interrupts, making a face, "That was one time, though! And it was pretty funny looking back on it."

"I'd still rather not be forced to crawl around on the floor under the weight of my own limbs," Vira sighs, laughing in spite of herself, "Double gravity is not something I'm eager to experience again."

"Come on, it was good exercise for everyone," Roddie laughs, winking at her before turning to look at Anthony.

"Hey," he says, reaching out to tap him lightly on the arm, "What's the matter, G-Man? You look kinda green. No offense, Boscha."

"Wha? Why would I be --" she says, before looking down at her own hands, "Oh. Hah! I gotcha."

Anthony startles a little when Juarez taps his leg, shying away from his reach to avoid his heart thumping in his chest.

"I'm fine," he says stiffly, still trying to figure out what Juarez is getting at with this nice act, "I've not been to space before," he admits, hoping that is explanation enough to keep Roderigo from knowing the extent of the panic churning in his gut.

"You...haven't been to space," Roddie repeats, disbelievingly, "You...seriously? You've never left earth, and they stick you with me? Man...that sucks. They must have it out fot you or something." He attempts a laugh at his own comment, but sees that Anthony apparently isn't comforted by it.

"Sorry, I'm joking," he says, clearing his throat, "Look, uh...it's really not so bad. We've got plenty of measures to prevent getting stranded, if that's what you're worried about, and, uh...well, I can switch the viewports to the dashboard so you can't see them."

He flips a switch and does just that, watching Tony's reaction out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Tony, do you have any, like, meds you take for this kind of thing?" Roddie asks tentatively, "I, uh, sorry if that offends, it's just -- well, I do, and you seem kind of strung out to me. If not, I've got some. It's basically just over the counter stuff, if you want it. If not, well...I've got a paper bag you can breathe into. Just remember to take deep breaths, yeah?"

Roderigo's joke only serves to heighten his anxiety, because the only reason he was here was because he wanted to come, so the only person he had to blame was himself. He does feel eased a little when Juarez switches the viewport, and then stares at him when he offers him medication, of all things. Anthony's face burns at the implication, and glances nervously at the other crew members, expecting horror or disbelief at the possibility of him needing psychiatric drugs.

The crew, however, is either not listening or just doesn't care, and Anthony internally gapes at them, glancing nervously back at Roderigo.

"I'm..." he starts, and then realizes he has nothing to say, "It's Anthony, not Tony," he says finally, wincing a little at his own tact, "And I'm... Fine, thank you."

"Not Tony?" Roddie says, frowning slightly as he turns his chair fully around to face him and locks it into place. The ship starts to lift off the ground, and Roddie does his best to keep Tony's attention off of it. The poor guy was such a wreck that he'd just about completely forgotten any hostility he'd had towards him earlier.

He reaches into a pocket, pulling out a bottle of pills and rattling it slightly before putting it in Tony's hand.

"Here, in case you change your mind," he says, keeping his voice low and gentle, "So, what's wrong with Tony? I like it. It's cute."

Anthony looks down at the bottle, turning it to read Roderigo's name and the name of the pill and the dosage, swallowing thickly. His frazzled mind briefly wonders if it's poison, while grasping for a reason Mr. Juarez is treating him this way other than simple kindness. He thinks that's probably too elaborate, to have a fake printed medicine bottle full of poison on the off-chance Anthony might display signs of anxiety and not have a prescription for himself. Then again, he could have had the bottle ready to offer for whatever kind of illness Anthony might have displayed, and after a long day of cleaning and inspecting anyone could be displaying any number of symptoms.

Anthony shakes his head to dislodge that train of thought, telling himself sternly to stop it before he works himself up further, and then reaches out to hand the bottle back to Juarez.

"I cannot take your prescription, Mr. Juarez," he says, wearily, "And I've just always gone by Anthony instead."

"All right, it's cool," Roddie says, taking the bottle and stowing it in the compartment in front of his seat, "Let me know if you decide you want it, though. It's good stuff, it really mellows you out. And please, call me Roddie, you're making me feel old."

"We have liftoff," Zakeef informs Roddie flatly, and Roddie motions for him to be quiet.

"So," he continues, trying to keep Tony's attention as the sounds of the engine grow louder, "Never been off Earth. If you could go anywhere in the universe, then, where would you go? There's gotta be somewhere you've always wanted to go, huh?"

Edited 2015-08-02 12:51 (UTC)

Anthony opens his mouth to refuse Juarez's offer to call him by his nickname, sure it was inappropriate for their working relationship, but Roderigo barrels on before he can.

"I... Don't know," he says slowly, giving Juarez an odd look, wondering why he was so interested, "Not really. I'm not a traveler. Why?"

"Just wondering," Roddie says, grinning a little and drumming on his knees, "You know, I always wanted to go to the Omega Sector. All this time in space, and I've never been. They say the Driss food there is, like, the best."

"Please, in the Omega Sector?" Vira scoffs, with a toothy sneer replacing her usual disarmingly gentle expression, "Maybe for a human. Trust me, if you tasted real Driss food on the homeworld, you would never be able to go back to the trash they serve elsewhere. Or perhaps you would, from what I've learned of mammals, you don't seem to have the most acute sense of taste."

"Shut up, Vira," Roddie laughs, extending his leg to kick her foot lightly, "At least I don't smell with my tongue. I'll never have to know what poop tastes like."

"You don't know that for sure," Boscha says, and she and Roddie laugh when Vira makes a disgusted noise at the both of them. She then turns around to face Tony, wriggling partway out of her seatbelt to look at him.

"Hey...Ant Honey," she says, sticking her pinky finger partway up her nose, "I know where you should go on your dream vacation. You ever heard of Orion 6? They have badass hoverbike races there every year, I heard a guy literally got decapitated last year."

"I don't think he's into that kind of thing, Boscha," Roddie says, "He seems like more of a horse race kind of guy to me."

Anthony looks at each crew member as they talk and laugh, apparently having a good time teasing each other, though Anthony notices that the pilot has a sour expression on. To be fair, Anthony hasn't yet seen him make any other expression either.

He snorts at Boscha's suggestion, shaking his head a little, then his eyebrows go up when Roddie makes a comment about him. It doesn't sound hostile or implying something unfavorable about Anthony, so for once he just replies and doesn't overthink it.

"Horse racing is often abusive to the horses. I prefer dressage," he says dryly, a slight smile on his face.

Edited 2015-08-02 17:27 (UTC)

Roddie gapes at him for a minute, then, noting the tiny smile on his face, breaks out into a big, toothy smile.

"Hey, wait, you're joking!" he laughs, slapping him lightly on the knee, "Yaaay, he has a sense of humor, you guys! Maybe this little stint won't be so bad after all, huh?"

He winks at Tony, glad that he had apparently taken his mind off the fact that they were currently accelerating out of the atmosphere, and decides to keep it going.

"I don't actually even know what dressage is," he says, putting his feet up on the divider between him and Zakeef and leaning back in his chair, "Is that where they put clothes on the horses? I'd watch that."

Anthony laughs, louder than just a snort, raising his eyebrows at Roddie and smiling wider.

"No, no, it's... It's like, choreographed trotting routines. I suppose dressing horses up in costumes sounds more interesting," he says, shrugging a little, and realizing with a start that he's enjoying himself. He wasn't sure what to do with that, and the fact that he hadn't freaked out about launching into space, pills or no pills, and found himself looking consideringly at the crew gathered here, and the varying happy expressions on their faces (aside from Zakeef, of course).

It was... Nice.

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