flourish_or_perish: ([an] looking away from you)
After tracking the Red Tail to where Faye had parked, it was easy enough to start making the rounds to the local establishments where she might have gone.

Granted, it was absolutely freezing out and literally almost every person on this moon was a hostile criminal, so no one who was approached on the street was much help.

But eventually, they found their way to a bar with pink neon lighting and smoky jazz emanating from within. (Though, notably, the saxophonist was not here.)

So a Mandalorian and two aliens walk into a bar (well, okay, one is technically carried) )

In which there is anime blood-coughing and a Stykera doing his thing )

[again with the alphabet parade -- NFB, NFI, love that OOC! Preplayed with the fantastic [personal profile] thedadalorian and [personal profile] stykera, and warning for an NPC death. Adapted, taken apart and Frankensteined back together from Cowboy Bebop Session 13,'Jupiter Jazz Pt. II']
flourish_or_perish: ([an] that lunkhead)
Faye's trail had led them to a large fishing trawler idling in Jupiter's orbit, and while the pilot had maybe been a little gruff when he'd hailed the Razor Crest over the radio, he still opened the bay doors for them to come in and park the ship.

And, you know, if Din wanted to feel better about all the shit people talked about his ship, he'd come to the right spot. This wasn't the Accord or Camry of space vehicles so much as the space equivalent of an ancient Ford Transit that someone had converted to live in. But it was clean, at least. There was that.

Waiting in the bay was a child of indiscriminate gender, about thirteen, and a Corgi. Had Edward been told to wait to greet their guests? Of course she had, but when did she listen to anything either of those silly boys said?

sort of like meeting the family )

[NFB,NFI, OOC is welcome -- preplayed with [personal profile] stykera and [personal profile] thedadalorian!]
flourish_or_perish: ([an] computers)
And here she was. Just what she'd wanted, right?

Faye had lost count of her drinks; the glasses in front of her were no longer reflective of the amount of alcohol she'd actually consumed, because the bartender had actually been diligent in removing them. But the booze, and the smoke, and the jazz in this bar were helping separate her from her thoughts, and that was what she'd been after, more than anything else.

She knew she was being looked at. There were three men behind her, slightly to her left, who'd been watching her since she came in tonight. There were a half-dozen others who'd filtered out into the night again after buying her drinks and then being ignored. Those were the polite ones, and she knew it.

Faye hadn't come to Callisto looking for polite men, though. She'd come to Callisto because she was confused and hurting beause of it, and she wanted to hurt more.

For now, though, she was content to sit at this bar and resist the urge to think. Instead, she could watch the saxophonist, who'd done nothing more than smile gently at her between sets, and enjoy his music.

Hey there, Mr. Saxophone )

[NFB, NFI, OOC welcome as always. Preplayed with myself and largely adapted from Cowboy Bebop Session 12, 'Jupiter Jazz Pt. I' and warnings apply for a real late-nineties treatment of gender.]
flourish_or_perish: ([an] looking away from you)
So, Stark had gone and ruined everything, and while Faye had done her utmost effort to ensure that he wouldn't keep saying things, that was not a sustainable plan, and those words were still...out there.

Which was why she'd laid awake, staring at the ceiling long after Stark had fallen asleep, and cobbled together a plan. 'Plan' being a fairly loose term, because this was mostly borne out of panic, but something of a plan nonetheless.

She crept out of bed. She wrote him a note and left it in the kitchen, where she was sure he'd find it. She apologized.

She stole his phone, because this was Faye, still.

And then she quietly wound her way down to the junkyard, climbed up into her ship, and took off to do something stupid and self-destructive, rather than actually take any time to consider that it might be all right if something nice happened to her for once.

[establishy but totally for broadcast!]
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