[center]Constance & Conway
[sub]Collab with [@Mercenary Lord][/sub][/center][hr]
Conway had hoped to get the AV-44's check-up done as soon as possible. There were several other pressing matters to attend to, such as the daily captain's log the UINC insisted on him recording each day, or get a report from the engine room, or see how the repairs on the huge lightning-ripped hole were coming along. And the most important thing would be for him to just be on the fucking bridge so he could captain his ship for once.

But he was entirely unsurprised when Ulhart walked in a minute later and said: "Sorry to be late, cap'n, but the woman in the room next to mine...she's tearin' it apart, sir. I think it was the same lass who tried to ride shotgun on the bird on the last outin' we did."

Recognition and irritation flooded Conway's face. "Constance," he hissed, and stomped his foot. "Fuckin' hell, boys, I'm of the mind ta just throw her overboard. She's been drivin' us all up walls we didn't even know we could climb. Wait here, Ulhart. Start the once-over, if ya'd be so kind."

Then he stormed off down the hall to the living quarters. He didn't have to wait long to hear frustrated curses and crashing sounds. "What in the ten triads o' Legri scummers are ya doin' in there, lass?" He roared, arms folded and thunder on his face.

A quiet "shit" could be heard from behind the door frame, followed by a pinched, "Give me a moment!" accompanied by the sound of furniture being scraped across the floor and glass being kicked around. After nearly a minute the woman finally opened her door just a handful of inches, enough for her to peak her head out and give the captain a nervous smile. The stagnant stench of cigarette smoke drifted out of the room, the thin holder gripped in a hand that was wrapped with a damp, red bandage around her knuckles. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and as her cheeks had dried her makeup had begun to streak together. A tumbler of dark spirits was clutched tightly to her chest.

"I was just about to go get you, Captain," said Constance, gritting the cigarette holder between her teeth as she ran a finger through her disheveled hair. "I think someone broke into my room and wrecked the place while I was gone."

Conway's fingers tapped his bicep with manic intensity as he glared at her. "Crocka shit," he growled. "Ya look like hell, and one of me men heard ya tearin' the place apart like ya were a Geralt cloud yerself."

He put a hand on the door. "Ya gonna invite me in, lass? I'm of the mind we have ourselves a gab." His voice was slightly softer now, but no less hard. "I'll not be havin' anymore of this theatrics aboard me ship, leastaways not without knowin' why. Ya've been a thorn in me side since we left off, and I won't stand fer it any longer."

"Really," said Constance, the melody falling from her voice. So she was just an unwanted vaudeville act now, was she? She turned away from the Captain and retreated into her room, her hand pushing the door so that it opened up the rest of the way to let the man in.The room was an unholy mess, with clothing seemingly tossed around like confetti. A cracked ashtray laid next to the door, the mattress on her bunk and the light fixture on the wall were both askew, and a small dent had been kicked into the hull next to her bed. The mirror above her emptied dresser showed only a broken reflection of the room, cracks radiating out from the middle of it like spiderwebs. 

The woman drained her drink, dropped the glass harmlessly on a pile of clothes, and flopped backwards onto her bunk as she let out a plume of smoke accompanied by a groan of frustration. Sitting up she loosened her collar and gave Conway an annoyed glare before motioning to an overturned armchair. Her fingers squeezed her sheets as she smashed her cigarette against the surface of her nightstand, either not realizing or not caring that the ashtray had since moved. Slowly she bent over the edge of her bed, bristling for just a moment as a sharp pain went through her side, and dragged a small trunk out from below. The chest opened with a click and she grabbed out an unmarked bottle and then fumbled around for her dropped glass, cursing underneath her voice. 

Conway followed her into the room and stooped down swiftly, swiping the glass off the floor before she could close her fingers around it. "Ya can have this back when we get some talkin' in, lass." He tossed it in one hand as he watched her. "Sake of the names, Constance, we've been out at sea barely two days, and ya've been treatin' it like a personal radio show."

He decided not to sit, because he eventually wanted to return to the hangar. "Now what's this about destroyin' the room ya've been so kindly provided. Bear in mind that I'm debatin' whether or not to throw you overboard, an' answer true."

She watched the glass with ravenous eyes as Conway tossed it up and down, up and down. Part of her was tempted to snatch it out of the man's hands; he may have been in charge of the ship, but it was her property and he had no right touching what belonged to her. Another part of her was just as tempted to pull the cork out of the bottle and drink it straight from the source like some kind of lowly vagrant. However, she did neither, her gaze slowly shifting from the glass to the man's eyes as she tried to determine how serious his threat had been. The only way Constance would let herself get thrown overboard would be if the rest of the ship was coming with her. 

"I wasn't provided this room kindly, Captain," she said softly, yet her voice was so heated that steam could almost be seen coming off of it as the words cooled in the air. "In fact, I think it's safe to say that nothing on this trip has been very kindly, sir, especially the way that I have been treated by the others aboard. Throw me overboard, it's that ungrateful nurse and that tactless reporter you should throw overboard. I have only been courteous and friendly my entire time on board, and for that I have been treated like a pariah. I could stand it when they talked behind my back—at least then they were pretending to be civil—but now they are shouting slander and lies about me directly to my face."

"I don't [i]like[/i] liars, and I have dealt with far too many to suffer spending time around anymore," she said, lowering her eyes. "Even after I tried to continue to be nice to them and apologize for a wrong that I did not commit they kept trying and kept trying and still kept trying to fucking. Provoke. Me." She slammed the side of her fist against the wall, her teeth gritting in pain. "And now you're yelling at me as if I'm somehow in the wrong, when I have done nothing wrong, nothing wrong, " she said, looking back up at the man with tears in her eyes. "I've done absolutely nothing wrong, so why am I being treated like some leper?"

"Because yer in the wrong company fer politeness." Conway retorted. There was no room for hissy fits aboard the Garrloch. Especially not after the things they had already seen. The storms, the monsters...none of it could be handled by complaining about how rude it was. "Yer in the wrong company for pride, the wrong company for sympathy, and this seems ta surprise ya. Like this was supposed ta be some pleasure cruise where ya'd tell stories, swap gossips and map the new world fer yer eternal glory. If only."

Conway leaned in. "Ya know, in the Ilyistavi Air Corps, we had a sayin'. [i]Onin myht onn bhant.[/i] One minute from death. Ya know Ilyistav. I'm sure ya've vacationed there. Ya might know how quickly the weather turns durin' winter. One of IAC's two big priorities was disaster response, because no sane civvies would dare try ta help anyone in the middle of a storm."

He snapped his fingers at her no doubt distracted eyes. "All it took was a minute fer the weather to hit hard. Only took a minute fer somone ta mess up, and then we all were dead. Happened ta my best friend, God rest his sorry soul." Conway fell silent for moment, hand running across his chin. Then he continued, "We volunteered fer the IAF, knowin' that we were all expendable. "And all of us, on board the Garrloch, we're like that. Expendable."

He squatted down to her level. "Let me tell ya a secret, lass. None of the fancy-pants officials back on tha Isles expect us to come back. We're the first ship ta go this far beyond the Ring o' Thunder. Some ships don't even make it past the storms. Follow the logic there, and ya can see why they think that way." His voice kept dropping in volume as he spoke, as if withdrawing further into himself with every word he considered.

"What ya were used to back on the Isles no longer applies. Yer on a ship full of smelly, loud, rude, and determined individuals. Respect ya might feel yer deserved won't come until it's earned, and ya don't earn respect around any of these folks by throwin' fits and talkin' about how much money you have back home. Ya want everyone ta know what ya've accomplished before now, I get it." A wry and dry smile touched his face. "But not a one of us cares about 'before now' anymore. And all they saw of ya when they met ya was a prissy and arrogant blowhard, and--let me finish," he said, sure that she was about to go off again.

"And the accomplishments ya've earned fer yerself out here: helpin' fight back the flames on the Garrloch, and survivin' that mangy beast, they're tainted by that bad first impression." He set the glass on the floor. "I'll tell ya how to get that respect ya're so desperately cravin'. Modesty. Stoicism. Followin' commands, and doin' the work ya're given. In this case, that'd be bein' a part of the exploration team."

He sighed, irritated with his own long-windedness. "Tell me I'm gettin' through ta ya, Constance. Even just a mite." With the way things had been thus far, he mostly expected a total denial of his words and another quip about how unfair everything had been.

There was a moment of silence as Constance sat and stewed with her face set in stone, and it seemed almost as if she was taking what Conway had to say into considereation. In reality, she was trying her hardest to hold her tongue back from lashing out at the man. She didn't care if she wasn't going back to the floating Isles; in all honesty, that solved many of her problems. Yet another insinuation that she had been traipsing about bragging about her wealth and her success filled her with venom. The only time she recalled ever bringing that up was when Edward had asked. She winced.

"Yeah, you're getting through to me," she said. "I understand completely, Captain. You shan't have any more trouble with me."

She was smiling her plastered smile as she spoke, her eyes seemingly brightening as she dabbed the tears away. In truth she did understand something, although it certainly wasn't what the Captain had been intending She already had an inkling that it was true, but now she knew fully that she was stuck on a ship brimming with jealous ingrates that had preconvinced biases against her. That was fine, that was fine, she had spent her whole childhood climbing out of the hole people thought that she belonged in, and she had done it by pretending to play their little games to keep them appeased. Smile, nod, play dumb, wait for the right moment; it was all very easy. She could do it again.

"I suppose I should clean up this mess," she said, her smile waning. 

Conway snorted. He was no fool, and this was not the first time he had dealt with troublesome deckhands, so to speak. "Nobody else is goin' to, are they now? Ya're free to do as ya please, as long as ya do it [i]quietly[/i]." He swept up the glass from the floor and tossed it toward her. His aim was true, with it landing on the bunk beside her.

He stood. "There'll be no more rantin' aboard my ship. Wait until ya go ashore to have temper tantrums." It was at the door that Conway stopped and turned. His eyes were slightly softer now. "Ya know, Constance. I'm o' tha opinion that yer a good woman at heart. Ya've just yet ta realize that yer old methods of conversin' aren't of use ta ya here." He pushed open the door. "Oh, and don't say ya've done nothin' wrong again around tha crew if ya're lookin' ta avoid more smears of yar character. We've all sinned, lass. Wouldn't be down on this God-forsaken trip if we hadn't."

Then he left, muttering to himself as he headed back toward the hangar. Would it be too much to ask for him to finally get to captain his own damn ship?