#i have to lay out Garion's story first

[rats-and-robots]

Abelard is used to the Rogue Trader’s… eccentricities. It isn't heretical to simply enjoy tighter spaces… but it certainly is odd that the man is often curled up–fingers silently flipping through some tome or another–high up in a crevice of the ship’s walls where he could, potentially, listen in to the goings on of his retinue.

Abelard has learned to scan the upper lines of the ship’s walls when searching for the Rogue Trader, but has also taken to doing so idlely, just to see if the oddly dexterous operator has found somewhere new to inhabit.

He doesn't do this to hide, he is easily spotted if one knows where to look. Most don't bother looking up. 

Odd indeed. But right now, it is some measure of very, very humorous.

Garion von Valancius is lounged in the intricate mechanics of the ship like some feline beast on some jungle tree branch watching and listening to the ongoing bickering between Marazhai and Argenta. Abelard has taken to standing aside, noticing that Argenta–having been around the Lord Captain as long as he has–has also spotted him, throwing glances upward at the man every few seconds to glare at him for finding amusement in this. Marazhai, on the other hand, has just made a scathing comment about the Lord Captain, using that insulting word to refer to the Rogue Trader.

“I believe I instructed you not to call me mon’keigh, Aezyrraesh.”

The drukhari jolted with all the grace of shattering glass, whipping around to look for where the voice came from. Argenta just laughed, and Abelard quietly chuckled into his hand.

“Up here.”

The dark eldar finally looked up, his face suddenly flush with fury and embarrassment, at a loss for words for a moment. Garion smirked down at him, the stretch of his cheeks distorting the warp-burn scar on the side of his face, patiently waiting the stunned xenos’ expression out. Finally, something came out of that fanged mouth, “What are you doing up there?”

“You haven't apologized–” Garion’s head tilts to the side, “–for your blatant disregard for my orders.”

Marazhai flinched, his eyes looking hard to one side, reminding Abelard of a spurned canine. He bowed his head ever so slightly, “My… apologies, Lord Captain…”

The Rogue Trader laughs openly, the metal claws of his replaced arm tapping along the metal he reclines on. “How obedient... You should behave even when you think I'm not around. Farris learned that lesson decades ago.” Abelard would swear an almost… hungry look crossed the drukhari’s face, but he promptly ignores it.

Garion clicks his tongue, the taunting grin falling away from his face, “However, as I've told the rest of my retinue; I am from a Forge World, I am far more comfortable in the recesses of machinery and cable than the open spaces. Out there,” he motions to the hallway, “I am exposed from many angles. Here, I am exposed from only one. Much of my idle time is spent in places like this.”

The drukhari considers that, head tilting to one side, “How interesting. Yet you're cornered there, not exposed and yet trapped. And what of your large open throne and Cathedral?” 

“I despise the openness of both, but they are expected of me.” The smirk does not drop from the Rogue Trader's face, “Do you really think I am trapped, Aezyrraesh? Do you plan to attack me? With a sister of battle and my loyal Seneschal behind you?”

“No, but–”

“I am not trapped.” The interruption comes with a tone of finality, “And even were they gone and you with every intent to kill or torture me…” Fabric shifts, and the man draws a long blade previously sheathed in his sleeve, “You would swiftly find that I carry as many weapons as you have spikes in your armor.” The blade is hidden again, “Are you satisfied?”

A snicker and a sneer, “Never.”

Argenta makes a disgusted noise and the argument starts anew. Garion and Abelard share a glance, a simple look that simply said ‘don't let them kill one another’ before the Rogue Trader rolled from his side onto his back in the small space and drawing his datapad back up.

Abelard walks over, leaning against the wall below his Lord Captain, “Should I stop their bickering?”

“They can handle themselves against one another. Just make sure they don't stain my carpets or waste their lives on one another if they draw their weapons.” A small ‘beep’ from the datapad as the man has fully tuned out the argument once again, “Ones with passion such as theirs should have the opportunity to deal it out with one another. The battlefield will be more tolerable if they settle themselves now.”

Abelard tilts his head back. He forgets, often, that this is not, in fact, the Lord Captain's first time commanding such a large group, he still seems so young, and yet he handles the rabble with astonishing grace. He had once been a Crime Lord, had a council beneath him of valuable assets as likely to stab him in the back as they are to be doggedly loyal. He supposes someone like Marazhai may even be more familiar to him than someone like himself.

“Will you openly spar with him as you have the rest of us?”

This seems to make the trader pause. Abelard can only guess what is on his mind in the silence that draws out after it–from Garion, anyway. Did a drukhari, of all xenos, deserve the tradition of the von Valancius flagship? Much less the same one that had antagonized them for so long? At least, that is the line of thought he assumes.

“...Yes. I simply have to finish recovering from Commorragh.” The barely-audible murmur was followed by another small beep. A quiet admission that his oldest wounds still scream at him from being back in the blackened city.

A nod, “I will have the observation deck prepared as soon as you are ready.”

The two warriors huff at one another and part ways, finally. Marazhai shoots a curious look towards the Lord Captain before making his way down the hall.