8th Wave

[tentacruelest]

Th' next time this Barge feels like poking around in my head, I'll be keeping to my quarters. The lot of yeh - useless dregs not fit to scrub a floor. It's bad enough I'm locked in here with you, I don't need to call any of yeh friends.

[Private to Bush]

Was dealing with me yerself so difficult that you sought to work through less offensive channels, Captain?

[Private to Arthas]

A word, my king.

[Can you feel that heavy sarcasm, Arthas?]

Comments

[spam]

[tentacruelest]

[Without a word, Davy takes the bottle in hand and uncaps it. Instead of drinking from it, he pours the contents over his face and head after removing his hat, tentacles making their odd popping noise in response]

Yeh aren't half bad.

[spam]

[halftheman]

[ Not the weirdest thing he's ever seen. ]

Been fighting a long time.

[ He drinks normally, thank you. No need for a smoke after all that-- he needs to breath. ]

[spam]

[tentacruelest]

[Giving a grunt, Jones with his pipe finally staggers away from the rail, somewhat disgusted with himself. He hurts, and the fighting did nothing to improve his mood]

[spam]

[halftheman]

[ Harvey's generosity and compassion only goes so far. He won't stop Davy; he will, however, go bang on the door to pub once he puts his coat back on to hide his guns and get a beer and maybe some ice for his face. ]