Falco_Tauvits
Junior Member
BlueMan
Posts: 95
|
ON:
Tauvits had just finished attending to his weapon, hanging it up on its place on the Wall of Honour, when the ceremony kicked off. He was out of his travel clothes, the heavy flight jacket a little too bulky for him to casually move about the station. If nothing else, it protected him against colder freighters and ships like the Theseus, and the cool temperatures on places like Jaressi - for what station manager would waste good credits on excess heating when plenty of peole would just bundle up a little warmer? Xavier was a no-expense-spared Federation outpost, with plenty of frills.
As such, he'd already changed into his sparring gear, to contrast as neatly with the Klingons in their shining armour as much as possible. The black jumpsuit was fairly non-descript, but became more distinctive as the 'armour' was added to it. The torso protection, the strips of metal with leather wrapped around them giving him solid protection which didn't impede his flexibility. A similar combination of metal and leather to protect his shoulders and his thighs. The studded leather braces protecting his forearms and giving his wrists support, and the matching pair of greaves that settled over his standard-issue Starfleet boots.
The boots were probably the only part of his uniform which he kept hold of. Starfleet uniforms were always adapted to fit the individual perfectly, and the boots were well-fitting and sturdy, having seen him through over twenty years of service. Although rather plain black leather, they nevertheless screamed 'Starfleet!' at anyone paying close enough attention, and it was a mark of a particular kind of mercenary if one was found wearing boots of a Starfleet career long-gone.
Tauvits intended to pass no such message on. He just found them comfortable and reliable. Still, with his garb, rather not very particular as it was, he stood out against a crowd of armoured Klingons and uniformed Starfleet as he watched the speech.
The smell of the Klingons filled his nostrils as he found himself positioned next to a particularly large group of them, though he had little reaction to it. A year ago, the slightly different scent of Klach D'kel Brakt had taken a little time to adapt to. But after a few months living on an old Klingon ship which would take some time to shake off the mark of its previous owners, it would take a little more than that to bother him.
He didn't join in on the chanting as the crowd followed Durkis' lead, rather taking the opportunity to examine the judges and the others about him. The absence of Neirbo was interesting, and there were more in the room than there had to be competitors. Visitors weren't unusual, however, so that wasn't strange, but he found his vision being inexorably dragged across to the far wall, where a small group of Starfleet officers watched, all seeming a little confused, yet interested. There were four of them, probably guests to Xavier unless there really were this many captains and commanders on board, and before he had even finished evaluating them his eyes landed on one of them solidly.
The pictues he'd seen of the man were recent, though, as with all pictures, there had been a distinct absence of the spark of life. Now, seeing Adrian Forrest in the flesh, laughing with his friends and completely oblivious to his presence, he felt a slight sickening in his gut.
There he was. There was the man he was supposed to kill. And he wasn't just a name and a picture anymore. He was a person.
A person who'd helped his crew die?
The sympathy faded somewhat as Tauvits got a grip on himself, but his eyes still didn't leave Forrest. The gaze had become professional, however, detached; it took in his lofty height yet rather lanky frame, suggesting there wasn't as much strength in him as Tauvits held. The greying of his hair showed his age, and the wear of his face backed it up. Years had not been kind to a man in his late-forties, and although Tauvits didn't intend to have to need to use physical strength and training over the man, it was a useful advantage if it came down to it.
But before he could finish his evaluation, Durkis' speech ended, and the crowd began to mill around quickly. Tauvits immediately lost sight of Forrest in the rush, and was swept by the crowd towards the door - and, probably, towards the bar.
As he moved, though, in the hubbub he felt a leaflet of some sort be shoved into his hands, and the hands of the person next to him, being passed around liberally. He squinted at the scrap of paper, eyeing its contents dubiously.
K'Hare with long, pointy ears. Amusing in a sort of strange way, though there was clearly a context he wasn't picking up.
"I have no bloody time for political satire," Tauvits mumbled to himself, scrunching up the leaflet and tossing it to one side. Yes, it was definitely time to get down to the bar. He was hungry, but he was also thirsty - perhaps trying to drain Xavier dry of all of its whiskey and partake of any bar food about the place to soak up a good scotch would be a suitable way to arrange the night?
OFF:
Anybody feel free to tag Tauvits. He'll be around, in the bar, and such.
|
Pages: 1
Call to assemble (Read 3039 times)
