Thread: Into the Black (Velociraptor Noise & Defiant)

In all his 28 years of life Quinn was sure of one thing. There was no such place as 'home'. When he finished for the day and left the shelter of the garage he didn't take time to admire the horizon or the surrounding buildings. He was friendly enough with the locals, more out of gratitude than actually wanting to know them or become their friends. When he'd been found having smuggled himself on board a bounty hunters ship they'd given him bits of food until Dragger saw his talent with machines and put him on his payroll. Even at the age of nine he'd never beg for food, he'd steal or swap payment. Slept where he could find shade. Sometimes he'd wake up to find two bites worth of a protein bar in his pocket. He'd never admit to eating it thought it was the only time he'd gone without that sharp pain deep in his belly. Over twenty years ago he'd fallen onto this planet and now he was Dragger's go to mechanic, was the one everyone saw running the garage when the old man passed but he didn't want to die here. He'd had dreams as a kid of traveling through the 'verse. Seeing the different planets and people. He had a good enough life here, but he wanted more than just good enough. More than once the opportunity to leave this place had arisen, he was more attractive than the usual folk around here, being a foreigner he'd been raised with a higher level of self-care. Most of these people didn't even clean their teeth, or just thought a swig of alcohol would do the trick of cleansing their mouth. Even then, some of the people who came in here seeking mechanical help would offer a place on their ship for a young mechanic like him but there had always been something missing. And he didn't believe in trust, much less love. It was every man for himself out here. The thing lacking was always the ship. If he was going to leave it would have to be for a special beauty of an engine and she just hadn't come along yet. The sound created by a ship entering the atmosphere was one of a kind. When it was a struggling ship it was one he could pick up. He still had a semi-decent yet horrendously gunked up compression coil in his hand when he'd heard the unmistakable sound of engines breaking atmo and had wandered over to peer up into the too bright sky, momentarily blinded before his eyes adjusted and he saw the transport ship. He'd never seen a Peregrine class vessel in person, it was rare outlaws could afford it though these folks rarely bought their vessels and the previous owners weren't capable of talking to report it stolen. He'd stepped back inside after watching the trail of plasma with a critical eye. The issue he assumed was pretty simple and how a mechanic of a vessel of that class could miss it was beyond him. Quinn tossed the compression coil onto the desk he'd been seated at moments before to step back into the warehouse. He was still searching, having climbed up a number of shelves to find the better quality thermal pistons. Once he did he dropped down to the ground, a tuft of dust rising from the floor before he turned and walked out of the warehouse, through the open garge, towards the more secluded reception area. He had a the box tucked under his arm and raked his oil-stained fingers through his dark hair as he turned the corner. He nearly dropped the box when he saw the young man standing there. You ain't a mechanic, he stated, a furrow coming to his brow as he stepped forward and set the thermal pistons down by his feet. The man was much to well groomed to fall into the mechanic spectrum of the world though he should have know better to make assumptions. Quinn himself had traits of Eastern European descent, his skin tinted darker after years on the desert planet, his build athletic with muscles thickened through years of hard, manual work. His hand were large and rough, finger tips stained with oil over the years. His eyes were bright, an odd shade of grey which usually appeared green or blue depending on the lighting and surroundings. His face coated with stubble, hiding the cleft chin but strengthening the strong jaw line and pronouncing his full lips. Just figured the mechanic would come to collect the parts, he leaned forward, forearms resting flat as he clasped his hands together and gazed at the other man, or boy. He couldn't really tell. You are a might too... he paused, he'd been about to say pretty but thought better of it. Clean to be ruttin' around an engine, even on a peregrine, he slid back, knelt down and lifted the box. Thermal pistons I'm guessin' by the type'a plasma trail left in the sky, he set the box down, there were seven in the box, the only ones they had in stock.