they had really cool black leather jackets with the Qwah-Co logo emblazoned over the pocket to go with them. Dylan had never really been fond of dressing like everybody else, so of course he'd spent most of his life that way. The real difference between himself and his compadres was that he looked really good in this outfit, which seemed to spotlight his package. He was a good looking man for a human, not that the rabble he hung with were likely to notice. Still it was important to him that he didn't go out in public till every hair was in place. He couldn't really remember the last time he'd actually seen an earth woman. Of course Barion women were nothing to sneeze at, and they seemed to find him "exotic."
He looked into the mirror and combed his hair, pretending not to notice his companion's impatience.
Dylan spent his days on Barious surrounded by alien salvaging scum, and most days that suited him just fine.
In fact, the only thing he hated about his job here was that he occasionally had to go with Arcadia and Pristin to talk with the royal idiot. Zarco was a man who epitomized all the things that Dylan hated most about mindlessly ambitious men. A rich idiot who'd never gotten his hands dirty, literally sitting on his throne, giving orders and making decrees that affected everyone but him. Pristin called Dylan lazy, but that was only because Pristin was an obsessive-compulsive little overachiever. Dylan knew hard work; hell, he still did it almost every day. More importantly, Dylan was the veteran of a dozen battles.
As a young man he'd played college ruckus ball, and everyone had said he'd go pro, but Dylan had bigger plans. He wanted to go to distant galaxies, and the military promised to take him all the places he wanted to go and make him into all that he could be.
He didn't get to go to any of the really cool places he wanted to go, and he soon realized that all they really wanted to make him was dead. It didn't take him long to learn more than he'd wanted to know about war. He knew what it really cost, not in money, but in life. Which was why he'd jumped ship one day and how he'd wound up in the salvaging trade. Salvagers didn't ask many questions, and they didn't care how obviously fake your information was. Especially not when you worked for Qwah-Co.
Zarco didn't know anything about battle. He'd sit in his castle, safe and sound, and let people run to their deaths in a war which was fashioned from Zarco's very personal need for revenge. He'd punish the planet and his people because Drewcila didn't love him anymore.
He had no noble reason.
This was the real reason Dylan was dragging his feet. It was going to be very hard to sit there and listen to the red-faced tyrant spit out a long stream of bullshit about why it was so important that they fight this war, and not tell the dundering asshole just exactly what he thought of him.
"Quit farting around with your hair, and let's go," Pristin ordered, finally having reached the end of his tether.
Dylan put his comb in his back pocket with a sigh, grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair, and threw it on.
Arcadia took his hand in her claw and gave it a gentle squeeze as she started leading him after Pristin, who never did anything but run. Even on his tiny little legs, when your one stride was worth ten of his, he was almost impossible to keep up with.
"Time is money, and money is time," Pristin said, his way of telling them to hurry up, which they didn't. They weren't that afraid of him.
"What's wrong?" Arcadia asked Dylan.
He smiled down at her."I hate talking to Zarco, and you know as well as I do that we're wasting our breath anyway." He shrugged. It was a real shame that Arcadia found him as physically unattractive as he found her. She understood him, and he her. He had never had a really good relationship with any humanoid woman, and he found her voice very sexy, so if he didn't totally repulse
He looked into the mirror and combed his hair, pretending not to notice his companion's impatience.
Dylan spent his days on Barious surrounded by alien salvaging scum, and most days that suited him just fine.
In fact, the only thing he hated about his job here was that he occasionally had to go with Arcadia and Pristin to talk with the royal idiot. Zarco was a man who epitomized all the things that Dylan hated most about mindlessly ambitious men. A rich idiot who'd never gotten his hands dirty, literally sitting on his throne, giving orders and making decrees that affected everyone but him. Pristin called Dylan lazy, but that was only because Pristin was an obsessive-compulsive little overachiever. Dylan knew hard work; hell, he still did it almost every day. More importantly, Dylan was the veteran of a dozen battles.
As a young man he'd played college ruckus ball, and everyone had said he'd go pro, but Dylan had bigger plans. He wanted to go to distant galaxies, and the military promised to take him all the places he wanted to go and make him into all that he could be.
He didn't get to go to any of the really cool places he wanted to go, and he soon realized that all they really wanted to make him was dead. It didn't take him long to learn more than he'd wanted to know about war. He knew what it really cost, not in money, but in life. Which was why he'd jumped ship one day and how he'd wound up in the salvaging trade. Salvagers didn't ask many questions, and they didn't care how obviously fake your information was. Especially not when you worked for Qwah-Co.
Zarco didn't know anything about battle. He'd sit in his castle, safe and sound, and let people run to their deaths in a war which was fashioned from Zarco's very personal need for revenge. He'd punish the planet and his people because Drewcila didn't love him anymore.
He had no noble reason.
This was the real reason Dylan was dragging his feet. It was going to be very hard to sit there and listen to the red-faced tyrant spit out a long stream of bullshit about why it was so important that they fight this war, and not tell the dundering asshole just exactly what he thought of him.
"Quit farting around with your hair, and let's go," Pristin ordered, finally having reached the end of his tether.
Dylan put his comb in his back pocket with a sigh, grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair, and threw it on.
Arcadia took his hand in her claw and gave it a gentle squeeze as she started leading him after Pristin, who never did anything but run. Even on his tiny little legs, when your one stride was worth ten of his, he was almost impossible to keep up with.
"Time is money, and money is time," Pristin said, his way of telling them to hurry up, which they didn't. They weren't that afraid of him.
"What's wrong?" Arcadia asked Dylan.
He smiled down at her."I hate talking to Zarco, and you know as well as I do that we're wasting our breath anyway." He shrugged. It was a real shame that Arcadia found him as physically unattractive as he found her. She understood him, and he her. He had never had a really good relationship with any humanoid woman, and he found her voice very sexy, so if he didn't totally repulse
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