11
« on: November 02, 2014, 09:54:20 pm »
Writings from the journal of Keiran, Florivet’s overworked engineer:
Well, the ship is in ruins. Again. Three guesses on who gets to fix him up!
My poor baby...oh, Florivet, what am I going to do if you're...
Fuck!
This is probably the stupidest thing the boss has ever assigned us for since we shipped that “fertilizer” out of The Order. At least poor Florivet was in one piece after that. The smell of corpses is better on a stable ship than on the sand. Still, nothing to do now but fix the ships and bury the dead.
We’re alive, me and Faith and Rorin, even if we’re worse for wear. Beckett’s off being, well, Beckett. But that poor captain from the Cake ship...
Fucking Marauders. Or is it Menace. Muffins? Screw it.
...I didn’t want to get messed up in the war. I didn’t want to fight for the Yesha anymore than Doc does for the Angleans. But a job is a job.
Fucking Beckett. Bastard. Can’t ever say no to the boss, even if it’ll kill us.
I’m sure one day it will.
Keiran Gold