[hr][b]Errol Vahn[/b]
[hr][b]// PRESENT DAY, OMEGA //[/b]

It had been a very long time since Errol Vahn had run into any of his former “comrades”. Following the group's final mission the universe seemed to give them every sign that it had been the end of The Dashers— a sentiment that carried over in a multitude of ways including the awkwardness that essentially separated each individual member from each other as they went off to do their own things independently. Errol was never really sure [i]why[/i] they decided to become solo players in the galaxy at large, but it was what they did. The asteroid husk that was Omega remained their central hub, but for some reason until today Errol couldn’t recall when the last time he saw let alone interacted with one of his former teammates. But here he was and Abrax was right in front of him now shoving a bottle of Ryncol in his face as he shouted with an energetic bravado that made Errol smile through the dulling pain that he felt in his bones. It also didn’t hurt to have another bottle than he expected in indulging for the night. It felt like old times, but given the impatient expression on Rosa Martinez, another one of Errol’s partners from his “dashing days”, he got the feeling that this was a little too out of place and convenient to be a social call. 

But what was the occasion? Did they have a job that required a few extra hands?

Errol dismissed the thought before Rosa made it clear that they had a place to be around the time Abrax finished downing the bottle. Errol looked to the bartender with a dazed smirk as he finished his transaction and gave him a temporary goodbye. The fact that Rosa [i]insisted[/i] they had to go at that moment did make his anxiety flare up as he jumped up to his feet. As they began to move through Afterlife the colonial human in him sprung to life as he began making a series of comments towards their female partner. The shots probably didn’t faze her in the slightest. 

[i]“You running the show now?”, 

“Didn’t know Abrax preferred to be on bottom!”

“Can’t it wait?”

“This is so sudden, I feel like some foreplay is needed before we go any further!” [/i]

These and other comments were pretty generic as far as Errol’s style of commenting went and it made him wonder if it took the two in front of him back to their days as dashers. 

As they walked through Omega and finally made it to their destination, Errol’s disposition immediately changed. The cocky and presumptuous expression dropped into one of gloom and confusion. A change of feeling that was hardly unnatural or even unwarranted. Errol frowned as his brows narrowed as he realized that this wasn’t Rosa’s operation… it was a [i]dead man’s[/i] or at least… he was [i]supposed[/i] to be dead. 

Declan Calaway, the former leader of The Dashers and the reason they disbanded, stood in front of Errol with a gregarious cheerfulness. A man that was supposed to be [i]dead.[/i] Declan’s comments shot at Errol about his apparent gloominess didn’t faze him or perhaps Errol didn’t really hear them. All Errol could think about was the fate of The Dashers and the burning question of what the hell was going on? It was obvious that this was about reforming and getting the gang back together but it didn’t stop a burning dread and backseated rage to overflow in Errol’s veins. For a few moments Errol ignored everything else that was going on as he took a step forward— debris blasting above. But Errol didn’t care, something else was on his mind. Irrationality filled his movement.

“Declan, you son of a bitch—”

Errol curled his fist and sent it forward, attempting to hit his former friend and leader.

“—where’s my goddamn money?!”