Young and arrogant, Cesar couldn't help but cringe as he pulled himself up on the ladder, making his way up. Looking around where he was, he could see the paint, if you could even call utilitarian grey an attractive shade, was scratched on quite a few parts of the vessel. Multiple singe marks also dotted the hull, likely from energy weaponry. Whoever flew this before did not know how to dodge.
Hopping into the cockpit, the first thing he noticed was that half the displays were barely legible to him, as English was not his written fluency. Like the outer hull, the abode bore plenty of scars. The A-ALT gauge was cracked, and the door for the lower battery compartment seemed to be missing, leaving the machinery exposed. The seat, made of cheap synthetic material, was tearing in a few spots. The stick was battered, the metallic coat chipping off in some places. When Cesar tried to get a feel for it, he couldn't help but notice that it bore friction when he rolled it left, which made an unpleasant creaking noise. And the smell... horridly familiar to him. Someone had been huffing Cardamine. Unsurprising, he noted, considering those... Bárbaros... loved cheap vessels like this one, of the Border Worlds line.
And now he was going to be flying one soon. Ironic.
"So?" asked the dealer. "What do you think of her?"
At first, he felt inclined to ignore him, he needed to wallow in his own self-inflicted despair for a moment. This ship couldn't hope to replace the Titan, flown by his Padre and Abuelo; the Tesoro of the Aguilars, his family.
"Sir?" The man asked again.
The Cretan looked down from his elevated position. "Disculpa, How old did you say this was again?"
"A good twenty years, I believe." He answered, pulling from his mouth a large cigar. It was to be noted that smoking was prohibited in the logistics area. Then again, this was Freeport 11. You couldn't expect much out of courtesy. "It's an older model, they don't make Scimitars like this anymore. Afraid we can't get our hands on those fresher ones all the way out here, surely you understand. O- Oh, and uh, one warning. The UI might sputter every now and then, but other than that, she shouldn't do anything... dramatic." He took another whiff, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air, the scent of which didn't help the smell of the cockpit. "So?"
With a sigh, Cesar sunk back into the seat, taking a moment to contemplate things. Everything about this was hysterical. If he'd been given a choice, he'd walk away from this. But there was no walking away, not anymore. He thought of past events, of older times before his fate changed, before everything changed. He'd told himself to hate those days, ones of violence; the dark sides of humanity; to look upon them as a bad smear on his old life, but in those days, he had freedom, friends he knew. But were they really friends? He couldn't tell. Relations with people get blurry when they shoot at you like you're any other enemy.
It had been a few weeks since he'd escaped from Crete, bearing a shuttle and the clothes on his back, abandoning everything from before. At the time, he still didn't know whether the choice he made was right, though he did his best to hide such doubts. Thoughts like that only got pilots killed... Or those around them.
Before he could let his mind slip further, he stopped himself. He needed to focus; he couldn't let himself get carried away like that. "Si, this will suffice." He turned his head in view of the dealer. "And the cost?"
"Well, you seem like a nice guy. I'll give it to you for say... A stack and one eighth?"
One million, two hundred credits. He winced somewhat. He thought the price would be slightly lower. It would be managable, but his new friends could only spare so many credits to get him off the floor. Get used to it, he thought. "That's a deal, amigo."
"Ah, great." He nodded, "Now, let's have you hop outta there for now. While we're moving her for ya, you could go grab a drink. The bar's a deck down."
"Gracias, I will remember that." Oh, if only he had the money to spare. Perhaps later. He'd heard recently that the Freeport had recieved a shipment of Sidewinder Fang, and they would start serving tonight. A drink, he thought, no corners to cut for that. Pure honesty.
