Soban
Convention Veteran
- RP Date
- YE 46.8
- RP Location
- YSS Koun
The hum of the YSS Koun's engines was the only constant as the crew gathered in the brightly lit mess hall for an improvised Thanksgiving celebration. The table was a hodgepodge of food from across the galaxy, some steaming, some glowing faintly, and others wrapped in suspicious, vacuum-sealed packaging.
Sacre stood at the edge of the gathering, arms crossed. Her piercing gaze swept the room, daring anyone to meet her eyes. Her posture screamed discomfort, yet she hadn't left. Not yet.
"Alright, alright," the ship’s overenthusiastic pilot, Aliset, said, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention. "We survived another mission, and the Koun’s still flying. Time for the thanks-giving bit!"
Everyone cheered, except for Sacre. You know, Ali," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut titanium, "maybe some of us prefer not to engage in unnecessary sentimentality."
"Oh, come on, Sacre," Aliset said with a grin that could melt glaciers—or at least annoy her. "You're up next. Don't even think about bolting."
The room's energy shifted as all eyes turned to her. Sacre’s sharp features twisted in a grimace, her green eyes narrowing. "I’d rather eject myself into a star," she muttered under her breath, but she stepped forward regardless.
Her hand rested on the edge of the table, her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm as she glanced at the assembled crew. Her voice was low, clipped, and reluctant as she began, "Fine. If we’re doing this."
A pause hung heavy in the air. Sacre exhaled sharply. "I suppose... I should be thankful." She winced at her own words. "For... competence. Most of the time."
Aliset snickered, earning her a death glare.
"For a crew that, despite its many flaws," she continued, her voice growing steadier, "manages to keep us alive. Barely." Her eyes flicked to Ioamai who was in the process of surreptitiously pocketing a glowing dessert. "Even if some of you need better self-preservation instincts."
Ioamai gave an innocent shrug.
Sacre’s lips pressed into a thin line, but there was a flicker of warmth in her usually glacial tone. "You’re all insufferable," she said, standing straighter, "but I suppose it’s tolerable. And occasionally... useful."
A stunned silence followed. Then, Aliset burst out laughing, clapping wildly. "Look at that, everyone! Sacre has feelings!"
She shot her a glare so cold it could've flash-frozen the room. "Don’t push it."
The crew erupted into a mix of laughter and cheers, and even Sacre couldn't suppress the tiniest upward twitch of her lips. She rolled her eyes and slid back into the shadows, arms crossed once more.
"Happy now?" she muttered, just loud enough for Ioamai to hear.
Ioamai leaned over with a mischievous smile. "Ecstatic."
She huffed and turned away, but not before muttering, "Idiots. The lot of you."
Aliset looked around the table, "Alright, who's next?"
Sacre stood at the edge of the gathering, arms crossed. Her piercing gaze swept the room, daring anyone to meet her eyes. Her posture screamed discomfort, yet she hadn't left. Not yet.
"Alright, alright," the ship’s overenthusiastic pilot, Aliset, said, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention. "We survived another mission, and the Koun’s still flying. Time for the thanks-giving bit!"
Everyone cheered, except for Sacre. You know, Ali," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut titanium, "maybe some of us prefer not to engage in unnecessary sentimentality."
"Oh, come on, Sacre," Aliset said with a grin that could melt glaciers—or at least annoy her. "You're up next. Don't even think about bolting."
The room's energy shifted as all eyes turned to her. Sacre’s sharp features twisted in a grimace, her green eyes narrowing. "I’d rather eject myself into a star," she muttered under her breath, but she stepped forward regardless.
Her hand rested on the edge of the table, her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm as she glanced at the assembled crew. Her voice was low, clipped, and reluctant as she began, "Fine. If we’re doing this."
A pause hung heavy in the air. Sacre exhaled sharply. "I suppose... I should be thankful." She winced at her own words. "For... competence. Most of the time."
Aliset snickered, earning her a death glare.
"For a crew that, despite its many flaws," she continued, her voice growing steadier, "manages to keep us alive. Barely." Her eyes flicked to Ioamai who was in the process of surreptitiously pocketing a glowing dessert. "Even if some of you need better self-preservation instincts."
Ioamai gave an innocent shrug.
Sacre’s lips pressed into a thin line, but there was a flicker of warmth in her usually glacial tone. "You’re all insufferable," she said, standing straighter, "but I suppose it’s tolerable. And occasionally... useful."
A stunned silence followed. Then, Aliset burst out laughing, clapping wildly. "Look at that, everyone! Sacre has feelings!"
She shot her a glare so cold it could've flash-frozen the room. "Don’t push it."
The crew erupted into a mix of laughter and cheers, and even Sacre couldn't suppress the tiniest upward twitch of her lips. She rolled her eyes and slid back into the shadows, arms crossed once more.
"Happy now?" she muttered, just loud enough for Ioamai to hear.
Ioamai leaned over with a mischievous smile. "Ecstatic."
She huffed and turned away, but not before muttering, "Idiots. The lot of you."
Aliset looked around the table, "Alright, who's next?"