Clearing the Air

Posted on Tue Jun 16th, 2020 @ 9:39pm by Tristan & Alden Loxley

Mission: The Milk Run
Location: Cargo bay
Timeline: Day 4, mid-morning

Captain Alden Loxley was walking along the upper platform, examining the cargo below. He looked strong, the fabric of his black crew-neck teeshirt holding him tightly. Tristan looked at the man, admiring him, but in a non-romantic way. He walked with such determination, such confidence. The young man was almost intimidated by it.

He cleared his throat as he walked up behind the man, trying to get his attention without startling him, though Tristan doubted the Captain could be startled. "Captain Loxley?" he asked, speaking up when his previous attempt wasn't heard. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but I was hoping I could talk to you?"

His head was full of the logistics of the unresolved situation with Drake, the unknown factor and the lack of response to any wave out here between the worlds. Hera lay ahead, Newhall behind them and for once, Alden had no idea where his little brother was. That was a disconcerting feeling for sure. Was it Niska? Doubtful, the man had other strings he could pull, and it would be clumsy for him to remove the younger Loxley from the supply and demand chain.

He turned quickly as Tristan's voice filtered through all of that internal chatter, Alden's face clouded by a serious frown. His voice, however, was deceptively calm.

"Sure, kid," Alden said as he leant against the railing and gave Tristan his full attention. "What's up?"

"I heard about what happened last night," Tristan said.

Alden raised one eyebrow. "Uh-huh," he said, non-committally.

"I this we may have a misunderstanding." Tristan looked away for a moment, "Jacob didn't take advantage of me at all," he said. "I took advantage of him."

The eyebrow lifted higher as a frown stretched away across Alden's brow. "No," he said, clearly enunciating each word. "We don't. And I think you're missing an important point."

"No, I'm not," Tristan said, raising his voice slightly. "Jacob was nice and kind to me, he offered me tea and spoke nicely. He doesn't deserve to be treated like this because of my mistake."

Alden's frown deepened as the boy's voice increased in volume. "Ease down, there, kiddo," he warned. "He did a lot more than offer you tea. And it wasn't your actions that concerned me."

Tristan looked at him, a curious look on his face. "I don't understand. What's concerning you then?"

Honesty and directness was something Alden encouraged and didn't find scary as a trait found in others. Sure, there were times when a person had to lie, cheat and steal, but sometimes the circumstances of those occasions were in the best interests of people who needed to be helped. And, well, sometimes they weren't. Needs must, and the Verse wasn't always a straightforward good or bad.

What mattered the most to him, more than money, fame or notoriety, was people. Good people. He hadn't known Tristan to understand if the kid was good people, but he deserved a chance to prove that, same as anyone. So far, he seemed to be towing the line and pitching in work-wise.

"I don't know you," Alden said. "And you snuck onto my boat illegally. I haven't interrogated you as to why, or demanded your life story. You're getting a - mostly - free ride to Hera. And while you're on my ship, you're under my protection. Jacob and I have a business arrangement and he crossed a line."

"Please don't kick him off," Tristan said. "Is there anything I can say or do that can make this better?"

"It's not your fault, Tristan, this isn't something you have to fix either. Who told you he was being kicked off?" asked Alden, his tone serious.

Tristan shrugged. "I guess when people mess up, they tend to be kicked out or told to leave," he said, his eyes trailing the floor they were standing on.

For a moment, Alden just looked at the young man, a light frown creasing his brow as he considered the wealth of stories that could lie hidden within a person. Then he looked from the kid to the big metal ring that hung high to one side of the cargo bay below them. They'd put it there to play basketball, and while there wasn't currently enough space to have a team game, what with all the containers of saline taking up space, they could still shoot hoops from the steps on this side.

Alden picked up the ball from its place tucked in by the side of the lower railing then walked back up to stand beside Tristan again. He pointed to the metal ring as he spoke.

"One on one," the Captain said. "We score a shot from here, we get to ask a question and the other has to answer. I'll go first. Deal?"

Tristan wanted to say no. He wasn’t a fan of sports nor was he very good at them. Plus revealing information about himself wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime. But he nodded anyway.

The ball sailed lazily through the air and dropped through to bounce below.

"Who kicked you out?" Alden asked, quietly.

Tristan walked down the steps to where the ball had bounced, squeezing into a few tight spots to grab it between the containers. “My father,” he simply said, his voice soft and meek.

Well, that was a short answer but a big first step, the older man considered, as a terse expression tightened his jawline. Alden offered a nod and supportive half-smile with no humour in it as Tristan recovered the ball. "Your turn," he said, and readied a longer second question in his own mind while he waited to see if the boy would get to ask one.

Moving his body to try and imitate Alden's as best he could, he threw the ball towards the hoop. His shoulders slumped as it hit the ceiling and ricocheted off the back wall and smacked against the containers. "I've never been good at this," he said.

Alden retrieved the ball, jogged up the steps and nonchalantly chucked it through the metal hoop. "You gotta practice," he said, with a smile. "So," he asked, once again serious. "Did you deserve to be kicked out?"

Tristan shook his head, "Not in my opinion." He retrieved the ball and took another shot, huffing when it didn't make it in, again.

Alden chuckled lightly as the kid missed yet again, and as he fetched the ball this time, he walked slowly back up to the top position and adopted a stance. "Like this," he said, positioning his feet so that Tristan could see. "Then you aim just past the point you think you need to hit, hold the ball lightly in your palm and relax into an outstretched motion, like this..." With an apparently effortless twist of his arm and easy set up of just the right momentum, Alden released the ball and let it drop, once again through the high hoop.

"Okay," he said as he turned back to Tristan. "So it was personal," he guessed. "Anything illegal or dangerous happen or just a difference of opinion?"

Tristan didn't move to go get the ball. "Daddy and I had very different ideas of what my future would be. When I stood up for myself and told him I didn't want to follow the path he laid out for me..." Tristan shrugged. "I guess you can guess the rest."

They'd reached a point in the 'game' now where the kid was happy to talk, so Alden left the ball where it was and leant back against the railing to listen. He noted the way Tristan spoke, and the version of the paternal name he chose, an assumption being quietly made within the elder man's head. Alden nodded sagely.

"You left," he noted. Spoiled rich kid? Made sense. Those uncalloused hands, the boy's nervous nature out here in the Verse. But, assumptions were just that, and Tristan was a young man, not a child, his past was really none of Alden's business. "And I'm guessing so far it's not all you thought it would be?" He asked, with genuine interest.

The young man's hand went to his chest on the left side. "Things haven't been easy, that's for sure," he said.

"Well," Alden said. "You're safe for the moment at least." He reached out to rest his own hand on the younger man's. "Are you hurt?"

Tristan looked at the man dead in the eyes. "No. That's what I was trying to tell you. I'm not hurt like that." He rolled his eyes. "It hurt a little because of...well. Mechanics. But no, he didn't hurt me at all."

The brutal honesty was welcome, but Alden rolled his own eyes in response to the kid. "No," he said, a little more firmly that he meant to. "I meant your chest," continued, pointing to where Tristan had placed his own palm.

"Oh." Tristan dropped his hand, feeling foolish. "Not as much as it used to," he said. "It's starting to heal, finally. So more itchy than hurting."

Alden smiled. "Good. You might need to learn some moves," he suggested. "Just a couple of defensive ones if nothing else. Would come in handy next time someone tries to attack you." He had a feeling that there would be more of those times in Tristan's future. "I can teach you, if you like." It was another way to tell if the kid had any prior training that he currently kept hidden.

Tristan smiled at the man. Honestly he would love to take him up on this offer, but he knew he couldn't. "I think you and I both know that I won't be around long enough to really learn," he said, trying to force the smile. "But thank you anyway."

"Well," Alden admitted with a shrug. "Probably not that long. But I have no immediate plans to throw you out an airlock, and... well, we have just over a week to Hera. Can likely teach you at least a couple simple moves in that time, if you're willing. Enough to give you a chance if the next pair of hands that reaches for you aren't as smooth as our well-manicured mutual friend."

Tristan laughed, "I'd like that," he said. "I was able to wave my gun at this guy, that made him leave me alone. Might not be so lucky next time."

"Good," agreed Alden, his eyes brighter for hearing the kid laugh. They darkened slightly though at the mention of guns and his tone turned more serious. "You get a gun out," he told Tristan. "You need to be able to use it. Kinda escalates the situation in most cases, often to levels you don't want. So yeah, let's get you a bit more prepared. Start now?" He offered.

"Ok," Tristan said with a smile. "What do we do first?"

"Come at me," said Alden. "As if you're gonna stab me in the ribs."

Tristan took a few steps towards the man, stopping a few feet from him, and pushed his hand out towards his stomach.

With an effortless lunge of his own arm, Alden wrapped his own hand about Tristan's in bound one, pushed the younger man's fingers towards the inside of his wrist and twisted the inbound arm into a goose-neck lock. He pressed it, only lightly, to demonstrate the simple beauty of the positon, then released the kid.

"Your turn," he said.

Tristan reached out, grabbing the Captain's arm and swinging it back and forth. "I don't get it," he said, as the two men stood there just holding hands. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Not hold onto me like a Ma Tze (girlfriend)," Alden said, taking his hand back and wiping it on his trousers. They repeated the gesture one more time, and the Captain sighed softly. "Get back to work," he said. "We'll practice more later."

"Ok," Tristan said as he walked away, happy with himself that they finally cleared the air.