You make your way over to her table again. “Mind if I sit?”
“You needn’t even ask.”
You seat yourself. It’s quiet, but not in a bad way... until someone suddenly appears from behind.
“Care if I join you two?” a half-ausar man asks and gives your shoulder a friendly squeeze. He’s ruggedly handsome, standing just over six feet with broad shoulders, lightly tanned skin and toned musculature. Short grey hair with a matching close-cropped beard frame his masculine face and sharp blue eyes. A noticeable dueling scar adorns his left cheek. “I see the two of you have already met.”
You’re sitting at just the right height to take a gander at the sizable bulge in his trousers; that is if you felt like looking away from his friendly, good-natured grin.
He wears a suit-like uniform that looks good on him but clashes with his roguish charm. You imagine he’d look more natural in a leather jacket and jeans. Three gold stripes decorate his shoulder boards, compared to Beatrice’s four.
“Please,” Beatrice responds. You nod.
“I Should probably introduce myself,” he says to you and offers his hand; only now do you notice a simple gold ring on his finger.
“Sweetie,” Beatrice politely says, “I’d like you to meet my husband...”
“Traven Reasner,” you shake his hand and get a strong grip and a reassuring pat on the shoulder, “glad to meet you, miss! The missus had some nice things to say about a splendid young woman she met here.”
With a finger, he lifts Beatrice’s chin up and plants a chaste kiss on her lips before seating himself next to his wife. Right away the husband asks, “So, tell me about yourself, miss.”
“Didn’t you say your wife mentioned me?”
“Well, yeah. She said you were Victor Steele’s kid, Emma, on a quest for your inheritance, but I also wanted to hear it from you, too. Just trying to start a conversation here, you know.” He pulls out a wooden pipe from his jacket, packs it, lights it, and takes a few puffs.
“Since you already know about me,” you say, “why don’t you tell me about yourself, instead.”
“Can do.” He causally relaxes into his chair, rocking it back so it’s balanced on the two rear legs, in stark contrast to his wife’s formal, ladylike posture. “The name’s Traven Reasner, as you’ve heard, but you can just call me Traven. I’m not really one for titles, so no need to call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Commander’.”
“You should take pride in your titles, dear.” Beatrice chimes in.
“You earned yours. I didn’t.”
“What about ‘Mr. Reasner’?” you add.
Traven grins, “Ah, now there’s a title I’ve been more than happy to have since joining the Reasner family. Still, it’s a bit more than I’m used to.”
You ask him what he does for a living.
“Oh, right now I’m a simple carpenter and the XO on Inexorable.” He sets his pipe down. “But before that I was an adventurer, much like yourself. That is,” he lifts his wife’s hand up and puts a gentlemanly kiss atop it, “until I put a ring on this finger.”
A slight blush spreads across Beatrice’s cheeks. “Oh, hush, dear.” She withdraws her hand and caresses it for a moment. “How about I go get us something to drink.”
“Whiskey for me. How about you, miss?” Traven and you tell her what you both want. Beatrice leaves the two of you alone and makes her way to the bar, with her husband blatantly ogling the sensual sway of her wide hips and shapely derriere. The spectacle also catches the attention of others in the tavern; you can clearly see the desire in their eyes.
“So,” you speak up before it gets awkward, “I heard you’re here for savicite.”
Traven has to wrest his eyes away from his wife’s backside before responding. “Yeah, shit happens.” He start smoking his pipe again. “We just got our asses handed to us in the Rush, burnt through the rest of our fuel getting the hell out of there.” There’s a bitterness to his voice; you get the impression that Traven’s not the kind of man who runs away easily. “We’ve already got a good amount of D and H-3, but still need some savicite to make it to Tavros. Our machine shops can only repair the ship so much.”
You mention how Beatrice knows who you are, even though she never brings it up, and about their ongoing problem with Steele Tech; so why didn’t she ask for you to do anything to help?
“You aren’t in charge of your company yet, right? So there’s nothing you could’ve done anyway, I assume.” You don’t contest what he says since it’s pretty much true. “Besides, she’s not the type of woman to ask for special favors or treat people differently based on their wealth or connections. She loves everyone equally, whether they be beggars or billionaire playgirls.”
“And she’s not only capable but also fiercely independent, so it’s hard for her to ask for help. That doesn’t mean she’ll refuse any; she’d simply prefer others to depend on her rather than the other way around.” He looks around to make sure his wife’s not right behind him. “I know I really shouldn’t be saying this - so don’t tell her I did - but she can also hold her own in a fight.”
“Really?”
Traven taps the scar on his cheek. “Really. Before we married, believe it or not, the missus was quite the hardass.” He pauses and strokes his beard thoughtfully. “Nah, that’s a bit too harsh. She was always a nice person, just way too serious and career focused. That made her a great officer, but she didn’t know how to relax.” He crosses his arms as a fond expression spreads across his face. “Just some of the many reasons I fell in love with her.”
Beatrice returns a minute later, glasses in hand. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you were talking about me.” She sets them down on the table: whiskey - neat - for her husband, brandy for herself, and whatever you ordered. “I hope it was something pleasant, at least.”
The three of you drink and shoot the breeze for the better part of an hour, talking adventures until Traven’s Codex starts beeping. He takes it out and checks.
“Looks like our little princess needs me. He puts it away.
“My,” Beatrice says, concerned, “is everything alright?”
“Yeah, I think she just wants me to read her report. I swear, that girl takes after you a little too much.” He stands up and pushes his chair back in. “She needs to get out and play more.”
“I thinks she’s doing quite well.”
“What she really needs is to get herself a lover.” Traven looks towards you with a mischievous grin. “Maybe our new friend would like to ask for her hand.”
“Oh, she’s still too young for that!”
“She has to leave the nest sooner or later.” Traven gives his wife a parting kiss. “I’ll see you later tonight.” He adjusts his tie and leaves the tavern.
After a moment, Beatrice speaks up. “You can ignore that last part, he says things like that when he drinks.” She looks off into the distance. “It’s already been decided that our daughter will inherit the ship when we’re gone.”
Again, it’s quiet, but not in a bad way. Beatrice seems happy with the companionable silence, but what do you want?
