Post by Frankenpetey on Nov 17, 2008 10:11:18 GMT -5
'Rafale'
Glyde leaned his weight onto the left rudder pedal as the Rafale, once again, tried to list to the right. He eased back on the throttle, a little fearful of sending his mech into a spin. He'd just have to hobble back to the dig site at...107 kilometers per hour. How annoying. The Rafale had taken on more damage than he'd thought; who knew how long it would take to repair her out in the middle of nowhere. Still, he supposed he couldn't complain too much. It had been a bit of excitement, at the very least, and it was never as satisfying if they didn't struggle.
Speaking of which... Glyde glanced back at his cargo, who was sprawled in the blind space behind the pilot's seat with his hands cuffed behind his back. The pirate looked younger unconscious. The armor had made him look quite a bit bulkier than he really was, too, though the man was still just a tad heavier and more muscular than Glyde preferred. Still, it made a welcome change from the hairy, dumpy, doughy old geezers and greasy little weasels that made up the majority of Loathe's workforce. Teisel Bonne, one of the few debtors to put up a fight, and the only one to pose any kind of challenge.
He strained to get a better look at the man's face past the curtain of gray hair. From what he could make out, he wasn't ideally handsome by any stretch of the imagination. And Glyde had a very lively imagination. Still, he was interesting to look at, if nothing else. Ideal people by definition tended to get a bit boring and same-y after a while. As Glyde was pondering similar philosophical observations, the altimeter started beeping urgently at him. Spinning back around just in time to feel the Rafale pitch right and suddenly down, Glyde stomped on the rudder pedal, wrenching the yoke back with an angry curse.
After an extremely worrying moment, the mech grudgingly began to right itself, pulling shakily out of its dive and back on course. Glyde was focused on getting back to a safe altitude and almost missed the soft groan as his passenger shifted, probably jolted awake by the Rafale's near-tailspin. "He lives, he breathes," Glyde grumbled. Curious as he was, the Rafale's antics had reminded him that the pirate was the reason his favorite mech could barely stay aloft, and he was more than a little irritated. "You've completely ruined the rudder actuator rod. I do hope you're pleased with yourself."
"Where...?" the pirate mumbled, voice gravelly and hoarse.
"Oh, I beg your pardon; terribly rude of me. Welcome to the Rafale." Glyde risked another look back, watching his passenger gaze around himself in confusion. The poor thing looked rather muddled. He had taken quite a beating. A self-satisfied grin at that thought began spreading on Glyde's lips. He suppressed it, with some effort, letting his natural theatricality take over. "Sorry it's a bit cramped-- the cockpit's only meant for one, actually." He turned his attention back to the displays. "While we're on that subject: if you wouldn't mind moving your knee just a bit, dear? You're blocking the temperature gauges."
The pirate seemed to be having some trouble keeping up with the conversation, so Glyde shrugged and nudged the man's leg forward and out of the way. The contact must have snapped him out of his fog; the yelling was something less than pleasant in the cramped cockpit. "Hey! Where's my armor?! What the hell happened?!"
"No need to shout, Teisel dear," Glyde scolded, wishing that his audios had better sound dampening than they did. "I'm right here, if you hadn't noticed. As to your armor, I'm afraid it's quite crowded enough in here without that bulky pile of scrap as well. Also," he said, winking, "I find people are more polite when they see there's nothing standing between them and their own foolishness." He smiled back at Teisel, who was most definitely not smiling. The bionic eyes were starting to grow on him; they lent an exotic touch. "And I know you can figure out what happened, my dear. You lost. Bravo for putting up a bit of a fight, though, even if you were hopelessly outclassed. One look at my darling," he gestured at the instrument panels surrounding them, "and most men give themselves right up. It gets a bit pathetic." He patted the pirate's shin.
Teisel recoiled as though he'd been bitten. "Don't touch me! You got some nerve...!"
Glyde clicked his tongue. Honestly, false bravado was always so unbecoming. "You're the nervy one, dear. Imagine," he chuckled, "reneging on a million-zenny loan! Whatever were you thinking--that you'd actually get away with something like that? No one cheats Lex Loathe."
The enraged sputtering was gratifying to hear. "I was going to pay it back! If you'd been listening, you'd have..." Teisel trailed off as he tried, and failed, to work his hands out of the cuffs. "Just let me go; this is illegal."
Glyde couldn't help but laugh aloud at that. "Ha! And what are you going to do, pirate, call the police?" He leered at the other man for a moment. "You're adorable." There was something a little equine about the pirate's face, but overall it was quite striking. Certainly very expressive; he watched as the man tried to cover up his discomfort. Glyde was good at leering. Turning back to the displays, Glyde giggled a bit. "The police. As if they'd be able to do anything, even if they wanted to. Honestly."
The pirate sulked for a few minutes, during which Glyde made a few checks and was pleased to find that the Rafale would almost certainly be able to hold together for the thirty minutes left until it reached the site. Truth be told, he was a bit embarrassed that that heap of spare parts had been able to do as much damage to his baby as it had. And that, just maybe, Glyde had underestimated Teisel’s abilities. Just a little. Apparently, the man wasn’t all bluster. He was certainly combative and outspoken, but that much was fine by Glyde. Cringing and simpering became boring eventually. Better to have someone with a little fire in them; they tended to be more useful, and they were certainly more entertaining.
"Where's Bon?"
Glyde had suspected that the man wouldn't be able to stay quiet for very long. "Who? Oh, do you mean that helper robot of yours? My bots are transporting it." He glanced back to see that he had Teisel's full attention. It must have been a very valuable piece of equipment; the man looked almost desperate. "I must say, I wouldn't mind having something similar, " Glyde mused. "I'll have to figure out how yours goes together first, of cour-"
"Loosen one bolt on him and I'll kill you."
Well, that was a little extreme. "I beg your pardon?" Glyde twisted around again, to meet one of the darkest looks he'd ever had directed at him. "Proprietary over our designs, are we?" he teased. It wasn't as though Teisel could make good on his threat, after all.
"He's my brother."
Glyde blinked. That little revelation didn't surprise him quite as much as it could have. So the poor thing had a few slipped gears-- it wasn't too unusual for pirates. It was how they ended up where they did. "Well then, you'd best behave yourself, hmm?"
He thought the robot was a person. It was easy enough to anthropomorphize them, even Glyde talked to his birdbots as though they were little people. That didn't mean he confused them for sentient creatures, but one could develop something of a fondness for them. Considering them family, however, was new to him. He wondered briefly what it must feel like to be so starved of human contact that a robot could become a 'brother.' Perhaps Glyde could help rectify that. It would give him a little hobby while he was stuck out here in the desert. He had a feeling that pursuing the topic now would be useless, however, and let it drop for the time being.
"You're very lucky, you know," Glyde said, redirecting the conversation. Teisel sulked, apparently refusing to rise to the bait this time. "Loathe is giving you a marvelous chance to redeem yourself. It's part of his generous and big-hearted nature; he simply can't stand to see a man struggling under a debt. So he's giving you a chance to repay him."
"I thought that's what I was trying to do when you jumped me," Teisel muttered.
Glyde ignored the man. This subject was close to him, and he preferred to go uninterrupted. "You people," he said dreamily, "are so pitiful. All you can do is take. Take, take, take. Mr. Loathe knows this, of course, but it doesn't anger him. He understands." Glyde turned to grace Teisel with what he thought was a rather benevolent smile. "This is your chance to finally give something back to the world, to make a difference."
Teisel wasn't really listening. They never did. "I'll bet," he snorted.
Sighing, Glyde turned back to the instrument panel. Well, let him be thick-skulled. There was plenty of time, after all, for Teisel to figure out the way of things. "You all just need direction, you know. A firm hand."
-------------------
In the spirit of cleaning the slate, as it were, here's a relic from my hard drive that needs a home. Par for the course for me, I've set up a scene and lost the drive to continue any further. Apparently I don't have it in me to pen an epic.
This is only my second attempt at writing from Glyde's point of view. Normally I'm not so into description, but I think Glyde would take more notice of a person's appearance than most.
It's been picked at and edited to heck and back, so if there are odd phrasings or some awkward sentence structure I've probably missed it.
Glyde leaned his weight onto the left rudder pedal as the Rafale, once again, tried to list to the right. He eased back on the throttle, a little fearful of sending his mech into a spin. He'd just have to hobble back to the dig site at...107 kilometers per hour. How annoying. The Rafale had taken on more damage than he'd thought; who knew how long it would take to repair her out in the middle of nowhere. Still, he supposed he couldn't complain too much. It had been a bit of excitement, at the very least, and it was never as satisfying if they didn't struggle.
Speaking of which... Glyde glanced back at his cargo, who was sprawled in the blind space behind the pilot's seat with his hands cuffed behind his back. The pirate looked younger unconscious. The armor had made him look quite a bit bulkier than he really was, too, though the man was still just a tad heavier and more muscular than Glyde preferred. Still, it made a welcome change from the hairy, dumpy, doughy old geezers and greasy little weasels that made up the majority of Loathe's workforce. Teisel Bonne, one of the few debtors to put up a fight, and the only one to pose any kind of challenge.
He strained to get a better look at the man's face past the curtain of gray hair. From what he could make out, he wasn't ideally handsome by any stretch of the imagination. And Glyde had a very lively imagination. Still, he was interesting to look at, if nothing else. Ideal people by definition tended to get a bit boring and same-y after a while. As Glyde was pondering similar philosophical observations, the altimeter started beeping urgently at him. Spinning back around just in time to feel the Rafale pitch right and suddenly down, Glyde stomped on the rudder pedal, wrenching the yoke back with an angry curse.
After an extremely worrying moment, the mech grudgingly began to right itself, pulling shakily out of its dive and back on course. Glyde was focused on getting back to a safe altitude and almost missed the soft groan as his passenger shifted, probably jolted awake by the Rafale's near-tailspin. "He lives, he breathes," Glyde grumbled. Curious as he was, the Rafale's antics had reminded him that the pirate was the reason his favorite mech could barely stay aloft, and he was more than a little irritated. "You've completely ruined the rudder actuator rod. I do hope you're pleased with yourself."
"Where...?" the pirate mumbled, voice gravelly and hoarse.
"Oh, I beg your pardon; terribly rude of me. Welcome to the Rafale." Glyde risked another look back, watching his passenger gaze around himself in confusion. The poor thing looked rather muddled. He had taken quite a beating. A self-satisfied grin at that thought began spreading on Glyde's lips. He suppressed it, with some effort, letting his natural theatricality take over. "Sorry it's a bit cramped-- the cockpit's only meant for one, actually." He turned his attention back to the displays. "While we're on that subject: if you wouldn't mind moving your knee just a bit, dear? You're blocking the temperature gauges."
The pirate seemed to be having some trouble keeping up with the conversation, so Glyde shrugged and nudged the man's leg forward and out of the way. The contact must have snapped him out of his fog; the yelling was something less than pleasant in the cramped cockpit. "Hey! Where's my armor?! What the hell happened?!"
"No need to shout, Teisel dear," Glyde scolded, wishing that his audios had better sound dampening than they did. "I'm right here, if you hadn't noticed. As to your armor, I'm afraid it's quite crowded enough in here without that bulky pile of scrap as well. Also," he said, winking, "I find people are more polite when they see there's nothing standing between them and their own foolishness." He smiled back at Teisel, who was most definitely not smiling. The bionic eyes were starting to grow on him; they lent an exotic touch. "And I know you can figure out what happened, my dear. You lost. Bravo for putting up a bit of a fight, though, even if you were hopelessly outclassed. One look at my darling," he gestured at the instrument panels surrounding them, "and most men give themselves right up. It gets a bit pathetic." He patted the pirate's shin.
Teisel recoiled as though he'd been bitten. "Don't touch me! You got some nerve...!"
Glyde clicked his tongue. Honestly, false bravado was always so unbecoming. "You're the nervy one, dear. Imagine," he chuckled, "reneging on a million-zenny loan! Whatever were you thinking--that you'd actually get away with something like that? No one cheats Lex Loathe."
The enraged sputtering was gratifying to hear. "I was going to pay it back! If you'd been listening, you'd have..." Teisel trailed off as he tried, and failed, to work his hands out of the cuffs. "Just let me go; this is illegal."
Glyde couldn't help but laugh aloud at that. "Ha! And what are you going to do, pirate, call the police?" He leered at the other man for a moment. "You're adorable." There was something a little equine about the pirate's face, but overall it was quite striking. Certainly very expressive; he watched as the man tried to cover up his discomfort. Glyde was good at leering. Turning back to the displays, Glyde giggled a bit. "The police. As if they'd be able to do anything, even if they wanted to. Honestly."
The pirate sulked for a few minutes, during which Glyde made a few checks and was pleased to find that the Rafale would almost certainly be able to hold together for the thirty minutes left until it reached the site. Truth be told, he was a bit embarrassed that that heap of spare parts had been able to do as much damage to his baby as it had. And that, just maybe, Glyde had underestimated Teisel’s abilities. Just a little. Apparently, the man wasn’t all bluster. He was certainly combative and outspoken, but that much was fine by Glyde. Cringing and simpering became boring eventually. Better to have someone with a little fire in them; they tended to be more useful, and they were certainly more entertaining.
"Where's Bon?"
Glyde had suspected that the man wouldn't be able to stay quiet for very long. "Who? Oh, do you mean that helper robot of yours? My bots are transporting it." He glanced back to see that he had Teisel's full attention. It must have been a very valuable piece of equipment; the man looked almost desperate. "I must say, I wouldn't mind having something similar, " Glyde mused. "I'll have to figure out how yours goes together first, of cour-"
"Loosen one bolt on him and I'll kill you."
Well, that was a little extreme. "I beg your pardon?" Glyde twisted around again, to meet one of the darkest looks he'd ever had directed at him. "Proprietary over our designs, are we?" he teased. It wasn't as though Teisel could make good on his threat, after all.
"He's my brother."
Glyde blinked. That little revelation didn't surprise him quite as much as it could have. So the poor thing had a few slipped gears-- it wasn't too unusual for pirates. It was how they ended up where they did. "Well then, you'd best behave yourself, hmm?"
He thought the robot was a person. It was easy enough to anthropomorphize them, even Glyde talked to his birdbots as though they were little people. That didn't mean he confused them for sentient creatures, but one could develop something of a fondness for them. Considering them family, however, was new to him. He wondered briefly what it must feel like to be so starved of human contact that a robot could become a 'brother.' Perhaps Glyde could help rectify that. It would give him a little hobby while he was stuck out here in the desert. He had a feeling that pursuing the topic now would be useless, however, and let it drop for the time being.
"You're very lucky, you know," Glyde said, redirecting the conversation. Teisel sulked, apparently refusing to rise to the bait this time. "Loathe is giving you a marvelous chance to redeem yourself. It's part of his generous and big-hearted nature; he simply can't stand to see a man struggling under a debt. So he's giving you a chance to repay him."
"I thought that's what I was trying to do when you jumped me," Teisel muttered.
Glyde ignored the man. This subject was close to him, and he preferred to go uninterrupted. "You people," he said dreamily, "are so pitiful. All you can do is take. Take, take, take. Mr. Loathe knows this, of course, but it doesn't anger him. He understands." Glyde turned to grace Teisel with what he thought was a rather benevolent smile. "This is your chance to finally give something back to the world, to make a difference."
Teisel wasn't really listening. They never did. "I'll bet," he snorted.
Sighing, Glyde turned back to the instrument panel. Well, let him be thick-skulled. There was plenty of time, after all, for Teisel to figure out the way of things. "You all just need direction, you know. A firm hand."
-------------------
In the spirit of cleaning the slate, as it were, here's a relic from my hard drive that needs a home. Par for the course for me, I've set up a scene and lost the drive to continue any further. Apparently I don't have it in me to pen an epic.
This is only my second attempt at writing from Glyde's point of view. Normally I'm not so into description, but I think Glyde would take more notice of a person's appearance than most.
It's been picked at and edited to heck and back, so if there are odd phrasings or some awkward sentence structure I've probably missed it.
