Post by Peis on Mar 30, 2015 19:30:46 GMT
Peis sat in the cargo hold, propped up against one of the many crates that filled the room. He liked the peaceful quiet down here. As pleasant as the company was, the incessant noise got on his nerves and it wasn't helped by Reikiko's endless moaning. He bounced a rubber ball, a trinket that he'd bought from a small market back on Earth, back and forth between him and the crate opposite, trying to pass the time. Alone and bored, his mind began to wonder. He thought of how far he'd come in these past few weeks, and who had bought him here. Catching the ball, he closed his eyes and began to drift off. He dreamt of how it all began...
Peis was ushered out of bed, the nurses telling him he had to get ready to meet this "Adminastrator". After being allowed to finally leave the hospital, albeit on crutches, after almost a month in bed, he had been escorted out by a group of four burly men to an unknown destination. Clearly they didn't trust him yet. They had every right not to, he admitted. His race, the Saiyans, had a reputation for being vicious, bloodthirsty and arrogant, traits that meant they would certainly not appreciate being forced to stay bed bound for a month. Luckily for this organisation, he'd been raised differently. Most of the idiots wouldn't admit they needed help if half their head was gone and they were slipping out of consciousness. He shook his head, but the strain put on his neck caused it to flare up in intense pain. A wince caused an odd look from one of his escort. As his mind wondered he lost concentration on his crutches. One stray crutch caught the side of a stone on the cobbled pavement and soon he was on the ground, curled up like a foetus. One man sighed disapprovingly as he crouched down and scooped Peis up again, hooking his left arm around Peis' left shoulder. From the looks on their faces the other men were anything but impressed. He was a sorry sight, a once proud warrior now being dragged along, a crutch hanging useless from his arm, unable to walk by himself. His white hospital gown was now creased from his fall with patches of mud splattered along its side. The same mud caked the right side of his face and clumps were now residing in his matted hair, turning it an even dirtier green. This won't make a great first impression, he thought bitterly. As they arrived at the office he was placed down and had to rely on his crutches to hobble across the final stretch of the journey. The secretary gave him a look of stark disproval as he'd limped past, clearly annoyed that a man of his condition was entering her office. Peis flashed her a mocking smile and her face tightened up even more, much to his delight. Reluctantly she told him to wait.
Inside the office he noted the furnished decoration. Bookcases containing hundreds of thick, leather bound books furnished the walls, the endless sea of literature encasing him. Velvet curtains were draped over the windows, the only light supplied through the small cracks in between. The centre piece was an ornate desk, made of some dark wood he didn't know the name of, winding patterns traced along its rim. Behind it sat a big leather arm chair, and in front a smaller metal one which he pulled out and sat down on. For all it's ornate furnishings, Peis could tell if wasn't anything of importance. For one, he doubted they trusted him enough to allow him in the main office and secondly this room held nothing of any strategic importance. No maps, charts, radios or scouters. Just a single computer monitor and the books, though he doubted they held anything important. Growing restless, he went to rest his hand in his head, but instead clutched a handful of mud. Tearing it out, he searched for a bin. Finding one in the corner, he began a process of methodically removing chunks and throwing them. His body may have been broken, but his aim certainly hadn't.
Peis was ushered out of bed, the nurses telling him he had to get ready to meet this "Adminastrator". After being allowed to finally leave the hospital, albeit on crutches, after almost a month in bed, he had been escorted out by a group of four burly men to an unknown destination. Clearly they didn't trust him yet. They had every right not to, he admitted. His race, the Saiyans, had a reputation for being vicious, bloodthirsty and arrogant, traits that meant they would certainly not appreciate being forced to stay bed bound for a month. Luckily for this organisation, he'd been raised differently. Most of the idiots wouldn't admit they needed help if half their head was gone and they were slipping out of consciousness. He shook his head, but the strain put on his neck caused it to flare up in intense pain. A wince caused an odd look from one of his escort. As his mind wondered he lost concentration on his crutches. One stray crutch caught the side of a stone on the cobbled pavement and soon he was on the ground, curled up like a foetus. One man sighed disapprovingly as he crouched down and scooped Peis up again, hooking his left arm around Peis' left shoulder. From the looks on their faces the other men were anything but impressed. He was a sorry sight, a once proud warrior now being dragged along, a crutch hanging useless from his arm, unable to walk by himself. His white hospital gown was now creased from his fall with patches of mud splattered along its side. The same mud caked the right side of his face and clumps were now residing in his matted hair, turning it an even dirtier green. This won't make a great first impression, he thought bitterly. As they arrived at the office he was placed down and had to rely on his crutches to hobble across the final stretch of the journey. The secretary gave him a look of stark disproval as he'd limped past, clearly annoyed that a man of his condition was entering her office. Peis flashed her a mocking smile and her face tightened up even more, much to his delight. Reluctantly she told him to wait.
Inside the office he noted the furnished decoration. Bookcases containing hundreds of thick, leather bound books furnished the walls, the endless sea of literature encasing him. Velvet curtains were draped over the windows, the only light supplied through the small cracks in between. The centre piece was an ornate desk, made of some dark wood he didn't know the name of, winding patterns traced along its rim. Behind it sat a big leather arm chair, and in front a smaller metal one which he pulled out and sat down on. For all it's ornate furnishings, Peis could tell if wasn't anything of importance. For one, he doubted they trusted him enough to allow him in the main office and secondly this room held nothing of any strategic importance. No maps, charts, radios or scouters. Just a single computer monitor and the books, though he doubted they held anything important. Growing restless, he went to rest his hand in his head, but instead clutched a handful of mud. Tearing it out, he searched for a bin. Finding one in the corner, he began a process of methodically removing chunks and throwing them. His body may have been broken, but his aim certainly hadn't.