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

private

[routemistress]

[All the fight's gone out of Iris. She's not even in her own room - she can hardly bear being where she can see that huge gap, and Dean crashing in there was a welcome excuse to stay away - but the dead space in her mind, where the bus' affectionate purr has been as long as she can remember, is impossible to ignore.]

You're so sweet. Everyone's been so kind.

[She hates that she needs it so much. She's never felt this old before.]

There's nowt anyone can do. Not really. I just 'ave to 'old me 'ead together long enough to graduate Victor. And you're already 'elping with that.

Private

[shakenandlimp]

I've got it in mind to invite you and Miss Gordon to dinner in my cabin, and a few other people you should like to attend, and perhaps it would help a bit?

Private

[routemistress]

...That would be lovely, Captain. I'll be on best behaviour.

[She will, too; she doesn't drink around Barbara much, and she's always a steadying influence.]

Promise.

Re: Private

[shakenandlimp]

I don't ask that of you. There'll be nobody needs impressing--this is all between friends.