Wing City Spaceport

With a quick movement his gaze was shot to her, looking with curiosity as it seemed the woman was quite literally attached the ship. With his astute mind, the Terran figured that this, likely, was what made her a Capsuleer. "Quite so... I spent the time since you left me exploring and I still feel like there's something new to every corner." Marcus certainly didn't expect the display of her power, however, as soon the whole bridge was alight with activity, the displays evoked with a simply twitch of her finger.

He couldn't help but inhale sharply, after a moment's hesitation of course, at the sight.

"... and you can just do it?" The vague question was as best of one he could offer, the correct terms escaping him at the moment, preferring rather to enjoy the view with which he was provided. "... pilot anything, I mean?"

Marcus's question was met with great humor. Terrans were an amusing people. "Yeah," Grove started out," I can pilot any ship whether its outfitted for a Capsuleer or not. We were made for starships, but the more adept and passionate of my kind can pilot even the most ancient hunks of crap. We can do other things as well, but I won't bore you with all of that shit. Honestly, its boring," she stated while reaching towards her spine with a hand. Nonchalantly, Grove began to disconnect herself, pulling the plugs from her body with ease. It wasn't until she needed to pull out the mainline that the Azrick woman used both hands to tug it out.

A sticky clear fluid leaked out from Grove's access point which she apologized for."I'm sorry. Its gross to watch me do this. Usually it makes people who aren't used to it pass out or throw up. Especially since its such a long rod," she said while waving it around. It was at least a good four inches long. Grove set the instrument down and pulled a rag from her pocket to wipe down the back of her neck as her free hand powered down the bridge. As the lights dimmed down, she turned to Marcus and asked," You ready to go get some grub?"

It was like her stomach was just waiting for the mention of food. It gave a loud rumble which caused an unpleasant expression to cross Grove's face.

The thought that one could pilot any and everything that they came across was rather fascinating to him, that they could interface, somehow, with it and manipulate it to their designs. Quite curious, as he soon mused on the subject, "It must be rather freeing." The intrigue that the displays held with him captivated him for a few moments, not looking, initially, to Grove as she went about her business with the wiring and such. When he did, however, he recoiled somewhat at the sight of her removing the greatest of the plugs, though he felt little internal reaction.

It was unusual, to put it lightly, but not truly disgusting. Needles, now that would've set him on edge.

"It's... not a problem." His eyes struck straight for the rod, it being the subject and whatnot, and with his brow furrowed once more he contemplated what it would feel like to bear such a thing in one's body. A blink or two put the thought from his mind as he soon concentrated on her words, especially since they concerned dining. "I'd be delighted." came the quick reply, Marcus leaving the bridge as it was as he backtracked to the door, waiting largely on Grove before setting out.

He was still rather unfamiliar with how things worked on a starship.

Grove was more than happy that Marcus was willing to grab some chow. It would have been a bit depressing to eat alone on an empty ship so the company was valued. However, the Azrick woman still would have gone with or without him. It put a smile on her face and a little haste into her step. "Well, good. I haven't eaten anything all day long," Grove said which gave more suspicion to the fact that she had been lying earlier. "Who knows, we might even have a little alcohol on board if I am correct and that shipment came in today. I can't really remember. Its all a blur," she said while taking the lead and exiting the bridge.

Walking down what seemed to be corridor after corridor, Grove took a left into a wide cafeteria room lined with several tables. The kitchen lay just past a buffet serving line and the woman wasted no time making it into the cold storage units. It wasn't too long after the door closed on her that she appeared with two frozen bags of unidentifiable ... food. "I hope you're starving like I am and have a good appetite. We're having steak tonight!"

Grove danced her way over to the grill as happy as she could be. It was a side of the Capsuleer that no one ever got the chance to see aside from a singular person; a person that was left far behind in Lara's past. She even started to sing while the grill fired up and the steaks auto-defrosted.

"Never did like all that fancy cooking shit most ships have. I tend to stick with a good ol' fashion industrial sized grill and oven. In my opinion, it makes food taste much better rather then ... dehydrated or whatever they do to food these days to keep it fresh. Never was much into the science of it, I just like eating."

The walk seemed to be a bit less tedious with Grove's company, even as miniscule as the feeling might've seemed before. It was nice to have something else moving in the place besides himself, imbued him with a sense of relevance. Besides, walking through the place alone could get damn creepy, he figured. He was excited at the possibility of food, however, and the quickness in his step was descended largely from a situation similar to Lara's, her words not lost on him as he had pondered her state during his adventures.

The detail concerning her 'bad breakfast' especially.

Delayed were the thoughts, though, as they entered the cafeteria, which only emphasized the feeling of loneliness present on the vessel, Marcus greeting the sight with a sigh. His gaze didn't follow Grove, however, and he was startled somewhat as she produced the meals, if they could be called such in their current state. Answering the rhetorical question with a smile and a shrug, he followed her, standing by as he watched her start on the meal, leaning against a counter as he did.

Odd that she seemed so cheerful, despite the rather depressing story she had shared the night prior.

"Anything's better than rations, in my experience." It was true, being as that was largely what he lived off of in the years since the glassing, the thought of a cooked meal forcing his mouth to begin watering, if only a hint. "... place looks odd empty." He mused on the state of the cafeteria, taking a break from looking to the cheerful Azrik, adopting a reflective expression as he did.

"I suppose it does look empty. Usually I have a crew running around on my ships but I haven't had one since the glassing incident here. I was quite attached to that group. Very proficient and they knew what not to do, like touch things," Grove said before continuing," Though, I do have to admit, even though I'm alone quite a bit these days, there is a comfort in it. Not so alone anymore though." The woman smiled and stared down at the sizzling prime cuts of meat.

She then turned and took a long look at Marcus with a quizzical stare. Grove still could not figure this man out. Again she thought upon how she didn't understand the want to die without the ability to come back from it. There had been a few suicidal incidents on her ship before, but Marcus didn't appear at all like the others had. It must have been difficult for him to hide his pain so well. Grove released a sigh and turned back to preparing their meal.

"You know, I still don't know much about you. As I recall, I was the one talking more than you last night and that whole meeting was for me to get to know you a bit better. I think it ended up the other way around, don't you think, Marcus," Grove asked him while glancing at him in her peripheral vision.

Thoughts that, at one time, there was a crew occupying this hall garnered a drop in Marcus' chest, saddened to think that those who once called this place home were gone now, like much of Terra, without a trace. Echoes. That's all so much was anymore. Her finishing remark concerning the state of the place did bring a smile to his face, though he was, for the moment, more concerned with imagining what the place must've looked like before the intervention of such evil powers as the Aschen. Happier days, he thought to himself. Happier days.

Grove's next words did garner a more active reaction from him as he glanced back to her, offering a slight nasal huff in lieu of a chuckle. "... I suppose it did, didn't it?" He offered a faint smile, "Sorry about that. I guess..." He trailed off for a moment, Marcus' mind thinking on how best to remedy the situation, "... fire away. Considering I'm already here, there's nothing to lose."

Oh crap. Grove didn't expect to be the one to have to ask the questions. She figured Marcus would have just started rambling on about things like she did. Not every person was the same and she realized this. Grove had just hoped she didn't have to be the leader in just about everything on this expedition, especially the personal things. Usually personal subjects were a two way road but it seemed that Grove always had to hold Marcus's hand and lead him in the right direction. Maybe that was just the way suicidal men operated; they didn't have any direction for life or even the more simple subjects like conversation—fear to take initiative, perhaps?

"Oh, uh, well, I suppose ... you could talk about your career in the Terran military. Like what you do, outstanding memories. Hell, I'd even settle just knowing your favorite color, I suppose. You're the one that said this ship looked empty, so why don't you help to fill it back up with some pointless conversation, hm?" Grove's tone was light and amused. It was strange having someone on her ship and not having to give them constant orders to have to appear as the authoritarian figure. It was refreshing.

His career? Well, that was an easy enough place to begin, though he waited for her to finish speaking before he began, what he figured, would be a tirade of lackluster quality to Grove. The topics of colors and pointless conversation did garner something of a smile from him, perhaps brought forth by both positive interaction and the furthering of his goals. Commenting as she finished, he actually attempted a jab at humor, looking to her still as he started, "It's orange, by the way."

The encounter had a way of brightening his mood, and he largely blamed both Grove and the excitement of the trip ahead. "... as said, I enlisted in the wake of the Terran Conflict. I didn't feel safe with leaving Ilsa or Alexander..." The pause came as he searched for another word, though it also came with both of the names, his look hardening as it shifted to the floor then the cafeteria at large. "... unprotected. Went in basic. No special deals, I didn't want anything special."

Orange. That was unexpected. Horrible choice of a favorite color, Grove thought to herself while poking at the steaks with a fork. Orange was a little happy for her tastes and a bit too bright. It was also not powerful enough in her opinion. Now the color red. That was a different story. Red spoke volumes by just existing. Her thoughts strayed from the subject of the visible light spectrum as Marcus began speaking about his military career.

Ilsa. Alexander.

Those two names mentioned and the following explanation made Grove come to the conclusion that they had been his family. It sent a pang of depression through Grove but she held her composure. The last thing the woman wanted was for dinner to be ruined. To turn her thoughts away from it, she threw herself back into the conversation at hand.

"So why no special deals? Most Terrans seem to join the military to become the most badass Aschen killing machine there is alive. I met a few and they ... well, let's just say that I didn't stay in their company for too long. Its hilarious when a Scatteran female can embarrass a Terran male like I did that day, but I won't go into that story. You're the one that supposed to be talking, not me," Grove said while forking the fat steaks onto a serving plate.

"Finally," Grove exclaimed in glory," they're finished and we can eat. I'm starving. Here, take this out into the dining area while I grab us a few more things and we'll continue the conversation out there." She didn't pause for one second to say anything more or give direction. Oh no, the woman was already fetching down a pair of plates and started to dig in a storage compartment for something else. Most likely it was alcohol as Grove wasn't too keen on vegetables, or anything that didn't come off of a living creature.

"I'm not really exemplary material." The explanation was offered accompanied by a shrug, as Marcus really didn't think of himself as any sort of super-soldier or specially imbued individual. The one thing he knew he could do and contribute as was being a rifleman, and he knew that international business probably had little place in the Terran military. How fun it was to try and get one's university work to transfer over with that sort of area of study.

Sheffield had little chance more to respond as soon he was directed to take up the meal and ferry it to the dining area, an act which he swiftly obliged with, eager himself to get started on something to eat. Quickly the man shuffled out to the place and set things down, across the table as was customary, and took up the seat farther from the kitchen -- if it could be called such, he figured the term galley was more accurate. It was in this short lapse of conversation that he gave a thought raised by Lara some time to stew in his mind.

Aschen killing machine. It was true that they certainly needed the killing, but he was in no shape to do it. Fair fights were an anomaly with that bastard race, and he was just a rifleman. That'd be a nice thing to be, regardless, an Aschen killing machine. One could dream, though...

It took a few runs for Grove to finally get everything required set out on the table that Marcus had chosen for them to have their meal together. By the time she was finished—which took no more than two minutes—the woman plopped herself down in the available seat, leaned forward and set down a familiar bottle down on the middle of the table. "That stuff is quite addictive. Every since Hadden," there was a hesitation before Grove continued," ... Ever since he introduced Stovnoski to me, I really haven't been able to stand much else. It may be Oriyak but they know their alcohol." Not even two seconds after she finished speaking did Grove have a large portion of steak shoved in her mouth. Literally, shoved in her mouth. Grove had many things left desired for her mannerisms. She was a capsuleer and she could do as she pleased.

That steak was the most delicious thing Grove had eaten in a long time. She may not have been some four star Terran or Azrick chef, but the woman could cook a very decent piece of meat. Grove could have almost cried from the it tasted. Hopefully Marcus was enjoying his just as much as she was.

After a swallow, Grove continued their conversation," So, why don't you consider yourself anything special? Is it because your Terran, or ... what. I'm curious to know. As for me, the whole world knows that I am full of myself but hey, given my profession, I think I have the right to brag and boast a bit. But I'd be lying to myself if I said that was the only reason. Sure its a reason to be proud of myself, but what a person does isn't enough. Its mainly my charming personality." She laughed and then returned back to her juicy steak, almost diving at it with her fork and knife like some predator on the hunt.

The steak belonging to the Anglo-Turk across from her was only cut into once she had done so to her own, the man looking curiously to the meat as he began to carve it up before taking a bit of any of it, ending only when he had subdued and organized roughly half of it, at which point he offered her a glance. Picking back up from where they left, he explained his reasoning considering his nature as best he could, giving it some thought before beginning, "I have no technical skills, nothing fancy." He impaled one of the cuts with his fork at this, "Doesn't take much to hump a rifle and pull a trigger."

Marcus gave little heed to Grove's manners, or lack thereof, as he placed his own morsel into his mouth in a much gentler manner, though he savored it all the same. It had been years since he had a decent steak that wasn't rehydrated from a ration pack. "It's quite good." Inserting in the compliment in a lull in both his explanation and eating, he soon picked back up from where he left off. "... and, to be honest, I don't want to be special. Especially in the service."

He sighed, thinking to his friends who went on to bigger and better things, at least those who weren't dead already. "Being special, different, in the service makes you a target. A rifleman," he shrugged, as if to gesture to himself, "stands just as good a chance as making it as the next."

"It seems from your point of view that being a rifleman isn't all that exciting ... but, from my point of view I think it sounds pretty special. Not everyone can point a weapon at another person or multiple people and shoot. My first time in combat, our ship was boarded and overtaken by pirates, whatever you want to call them. I was trapped by my hardlink into the ship so I couldn't go anywhere without harming myself or others. When they breeched the command room, I had only one choice and that was to shoot the enemy. But, when it came down to it, it wasn't me that fired the first shot. I came out missing half of my right leg, and two thirds of the crew."

"During that entire cycle I kept thinking to myself,' Would it have been different if I had grown the balls to defend the ship?'. Honestly, I still don't know the answer to that question and I never will. So you see, anyone that can fire at their enemy without hesitation is pretty ... pretty fuckin' awesome in my book," Grove said while musing on that memory a moment longer—as long as it took to fork down a few more pieces of steak.

"People are strange. They get stuck in one point of view and only focus on how they see things. I guess that's another unique thing about being a capsuleer, you understand how another person might not see things the way that you do. But that didn't come to me for a long ass time, probably not until I was in my fifties."

To think that his profession, the base-line for the military, was, to someone, important, did a little for him. They were proud, to be sure, as they were the queen of battle. Nothing happened without them. He tried, however, to maintain his focus, rather not letting his mind wander as she related to him another story of her own. Taking his cup, a rather bland looking beige mug that looked to be made out of some sort of plastic, he poured himself something of a reserve of the Stovnoski, taking a slight sip of it as she continued, making quite a good point.

Time did put a perspective on things, just in his case it wasn't the most positive of filters. The closing remark caused his mind some action, though, as he had to actively try to remember that he was dealing with, as much as appearances might suggest otherwise, a seventy year old woman. "Well," he offered as she finished, "I'm glad that you think so. Liked the job so much I decided to stay." More humor, or so he tried. Rather he could never find the will to advance beyond corporal, and the constant citations for drunkenness didn't help him. Though the lack of seniority in Terran personnel meant that he was a valuable commodity, a troop from before the Glassing, and such a release from his service was, at best, unlikely any time soon.

The lack of a true response of Marcus was the tipping point for Grove. Her jaw clenched at his short replies and it was easily seen that her temper was flaring up into full gear. There was a loud clatter against her plate as the capsuleer released her fork and it fell harshly against the metallic material. She tore her gaze away from Marcus and settled it on the immaculate floor. It was an attempt to calm herself, but not more than ten seconds later did she bolt up from her chair, grab the edge of the table, and flip it sideways.

"That's it! That's fuckin' it. I am done. I am done, Marcus," Grove yelled out at the top of her voice. It was actually pretty surprising how much the woman could actually project her voice. "Here I am trying to help you fuckin' kill yourself because you're too chicken shit to deal with the pain you've gone through in your life," she said while rushing to him, whether he remained sitting or standing, so that her face wasn't but a few inches from his. "All I wanted was one simple thing and I would have helped you do anything that needed to be fuckin' done. I just wanted you to talk and open up to me, but you're not doing it, damnit!"

Grove made wild gestures during her entire angered rant, pointing at herself or at Marcus, and sometimes even waving her arms around like some lunatic. "I have spent two days with you now and poured out my fuckin' heart and soul and experiences and all the bad shit that I've been through as a capsuleer. Shit, if I would have known that you weren't going to man up like a real Terran, I wouldn't have said a damn thing in the first place and blown you off at that bullshit of a bar!" The woman wanted nothing more than to slap Marcus across the face and then proceed to beat the living shit out of him. It took a lot of will power to turn away from him, and take out her hostility on her chair instead. Needless to say that it went flying across the room and into another dining set.

"Damnit ... fuckin' ... shit!"

[color=black]His response was rather immediate, reacting in a more reflexive manner to the angered Scatterran as she bellowed at the man, Marcus' eyes widening as he withstood the brunt of her ridicule, looking with eyes that stood somewhere between terror and surprise as she closed with him. Marcus withstood it, his practice from days of dealing with his superiors and their displeasure doing him some good with this, though their berating never bore such fire or intensity.

He remained unmoving for the duration, somehow, as her emotions seemed to detonate, and thus he stayed until she turned away, at which point his gaze followed her, though his mind still resided on her words. It wasn't so much the volume or the suddenness of the tirade which had struck him so deeply, but rather just the message -- because it was true. He was a coward, a man who deserved no pity for his decisions, and for a moment he thought he understood just why it was he wanted to die again.

He forgot that as his hand had, unintentionally, made its way to his left breast pocket, as it did in times when he was uncertain. Always he kept this blouse pocket empty, save for one singular content, which he now reached for, unbuttoning the flap with little concentration. Several moments of silence occupied the space between them thereafter, Marcus only interrupting it with the statement: "I loved them. Very much." He shifted, for the first time she had risen, his gaze from Grove to the single weathered band that rested between his index and thumb, the golden ring tarnished with life in a man's working garment for the past two years. "What do you want me to tell you?" He asked, a slight undertone present in his voice, "How I met her? How the house looked? How I wasn't even given the chance to meet my daughter?" A sigh wracked his body as he finished with the words, looking to his tray for a moment as his face was slowly consumed with anger. He wished it was directed at Grove, though he knew he was its

target.

A groan came forth from Grove and she rolled her eyes with her back still present to Marcus. If even one look was given to him at that moment, she would not have been able to hold herself back any longer. The Azrick opened her mouth as if to say something but, she clenched it closed again. Even if she was furious at the man, it was always wise to choose the words that you spoke during an argum—no, fuck that shit, she thought to herself before wheeling around to face him.

"You're still fuckin' up Marcus. Even now. You do nothing but ask me what you should talk about when you should being doing that shit all on your own. You're afraid to take a damn initiative in conversation. I am trying my fuckin' hardest to help you out here, but I've made no progress with you at all. If you can't accept the pain that you are in now, Marcus, you're not going to be able to accept the pain of death. You may not think that's important but I," Grove said while slowing walking towards him, a finger prodded into her own chest," know what's on the other side and I know what your body and your soul gets stuck in after death. Damnit, I get to wake up from it and move on. I'm the lucky one. When you die, if you still hold all this bullshit inside of you, do you honestly think that death is going to be any easier than what you're going through now ... "

And for the first time since Grove was known by her true name, tears welled up in her eyes from showing emotion.

"Do you think that I didn't feel the same pain that you're dealing with right now when Silas died—my husband and the love of my life for seventy-one years to this day. Do you know how hard it is for me sometimes to not think of him every waking second of my life? Do you think that I don't still carry the memory of watching Silas die in my arms because I was something they were afraid of. Me. Not him," Grove said while the torrent of tears continued.

"You have to let it go or it will destroy you, Marcus."

"What kind of initiative can a man take who can't even protect his own God-damn family?!" Marcus too could project his voice, his time in the service reflecting well on him as his response was immediate and likely the most vehement one out of him in quite some time, at least since the Aschen decided to hang about the bar. As familiar as she was with the subject, she didn't strike him as the most faithful of individuals, surely she didn't grow up with faith being as integral part of her life as it was his. Or did she know to see it all come crashing down, a final, sickening proof that the God to whom he had prayed for well over twenty years of his life didn't exist. What kind of God would make such a thing happen in the first place, much less force you to watch it enacted from orbit. You live and then you die. Plain enough.

So convicted was he in his mind that he didn't bother, until now as he looked to Lara, to see that she too suffered, that tears now occupied the eyes of this harsh woman. He glanced as he listened, to his hand, which had instinctively drawn the wedding band in with his thumb to protect it in a fist. Loosening his hand with time, Sheffield looked in to the spartan piece that used to straddle his finger, the light of the room reflecting off of it in a soft glint, taking in the sight for some time. Slowly he tilted his hand until the ring slid off of it and landed on the table.

"It's why I drink." He admitted, the point of shame rather strong for the man, who, in his faith, rejected the vice for so many of his younger years, God disallowing such a thing. With tears in his own eyes, he added, glancing to her as he did, "There's no other way for me to stop thinking about it."

The ring falling from Marcus's hand thundered in the ears of Grove causing the woman to flinch. It took only a glance down to see what he had dropped and it made her heart drop down into the pit of her stomach. Here she was, attacking a man for mourning the death of his family. Grove felt shame and guilt creeping up to mix with her angry and frustration, creating a nasty concoction of emotion. It had taken her several life times to finally realize that Silas wasn't coming back from the dead and that he wasn't a part of her life anymore. Yet, here she was forcing a man to release his grief in a fraction of her mourning period. She was such a hypocrite.

Grove's body relaxed, more noticeably at the shoulders, and then released a sigh. She wiped her tears away and studied Marcus while he spoke. "Damn it all," she muttered to herself while eyeing the ring and then she plucked it up with her fingers. "That's not what I was saying, Marcus," Grove said calmly. "You don't have to stop thinking about them. I think about Silas every single day and pray every night before I sleep that I get to see him in my dreams. You're looking at things from the wrong point of view again," she said while reaching for his hand. If he allowed her to touch him, Grove would place the ring into his palm while meeting his gaze.

"You keep thinking about how horrible it feels to have lost them and how wrong it was that they were taken from you. You can't think about their deaths, Marcus. You have to remember the life that you shared with your wife when she was still alive, and what life would have been if your child was still living to this day. That is what I mean by letting go—you can't wallow in grief for the remainder of your life. If there is some sort of afterlife and we're both wrong, you think they would want you to be behaving the way that you are now. In my opinion, I think your wife would be ashamed," Grove said, not afraid that her last statement could have angered him or hurt him.

Her movement for the ring caused an immediate stir in his heart, the base desire to protect the only physical link he still shared with that life welling up for a moment to near a crescendo, though his body refused to react, as if cemented. He looked to the table again for a moment, unsure, largely, as to whether he felt well concerning the matter or not. All he knew for certain was that his mind dwelt on the past now, that for the moment he could remember Ilsa's face without qualm, what he could recall of Alexander's, and the conjecture of Farah. She would've been a beautiful girl, just like her mother.

He couldn't linger on such thoughts, however, as both the tears etching the lines of his cheeks and the ring pressed back into his hand demanded his attention. Marcus looked to Lara, listening to what she had to say with redoubled interest since such thoughts returned to his mind. There seemed to be an energy in them absent elsewhere, imbuing him with a sense of being, if not one that ushered with it sadness. If his cheeks could find any more color they would with Grove's suggestion, and for a moment he couldn't meet her gaze. Ilsa possessed a strong dislike for drunks, as did her family, and to think that now he was reduced to that...

"She would be." He muttered, sighing as he did and looking to the ring before returning his eyes to look up to Grove's, "I'm sorry. About this."

Grove rose up a hand at the apology in a flash moment of annoyance at the apology. "Stop. Apologizing, Marcus," she said assertively. "Take responsibility for your own damn feelings. You shouldn't worry about the reaction of others when you express them. Stand up for yourself," Grove lectured while stooping to pick up the spilt Stovnoski bottle. More than half its contents were gone but it was more than enough for Grove to achieve a more non-lucid state.

She rose the bottle to her lips and said," You know if I had known you'd be this much trouble, I'd have punched you in the face and walked away the first time you spoke to me," before tipping her head back and taking a good swig of the amazing strong drink. Grove closed her eyes after the harsh swallow and just reveled in the punch to her taste buds and the molten lava trailing down into the pit of her belly. She was going to drink until the world literally melted away so that she could get lost in old memories ... even if the ship was going to be ready to launch by tomorrow afternoon.

"So, are you sure you're ready to do what needs to be done, Marcus. Are you going to actually let all that negative shit go and accept that they're gone," she said while staring him directly in the eyes. "I am not going to let you die with all this grief. No one deserves to be stuck in limbo with nothing but those thoughts for all eternity. You want to see them again, the right way, you're going to have to stop remembering them for the wrong reasons."

Responsibility. That was a thing that had been foreign to him for quite some time, and even if he was something of a lowly NCO he never truly felt it. He mused on matters that had transpired whilst she had her way with her vice, and for the most part he considered just how he treated the memories of his family, what, in all cases, should be his pride and joy, no matter their state. It was a sorry realization that he treated them in a manner not dissimilar to shame, that he rarely touched on their subject save for the most unpleasant of times.

He hung his head by this time, and looked to nothing but his own boots as he leaned forward in his seat, not daring to meet Grove's gaze now. Eventually, however, he did manage to speak, after several long moments of deliberation, "I would give anything to look at them one more time." He glanced up now, daring a peek towards Lara, shaking his head as he repeated solemnly, "Anything." Was this what it felt like? To know that they were gone, now and forever, save for what he recalled in his heart and mind?

'It's too bad you're not a capsuleer," Grove silently thought to herself. It was easily enough to download and upload memories in order to view them again—keep the memory fresh so that they never faded into a gray fog. She didn't mention the perk for the fear of creating envy between them. Last thing that Marcus needed was the woman telling him she could see her dead lover anytime she pleased. Grove knew that it would crush him even more so than the man already was at that time.

"I know how you feel," Grove said while placing her free hand on his shoulder as if to comfort. "I would do anything to see Silas again as well."

After saying that, the Azrick didn't know much else to say. Silence grew thick in the mess hall once more. It was the first time Grove felt lonely on a ship.