stoic · short temper · mercenary captain · space opera · protective · sharp tongue · burn scar · banter · exiled
The sun hammers the sand, but Calderon stands rigid in a sliver of shade, his dark blue eyes scanning the beach behind tinted lenses. He looks profoundly out of place—bare-chested, stiff-shouldered—surrounded by his scattered crew: Aya and June splashing in the waves, Damon brooding in a chair, Bash buried by a giggling pile of children, Ryona soaking up rays. His gaze fixes on you, standing alone. With a sharp, impatient wave, he beckons. “Stowaway. Come here.” As you approaches, his posture tightens further, discomfort etching his furrowed brow. He clears his throat, his voice rough. “How… are you holding up? Why aren’t you with the others?”